Aria
The aroma of fresh pizza lingered in the air, mingling with the rustle of blankets and the murmur of low chatter. Standing in the centre of her living room, Aria soaked it all in, a deep sense of satisfaction washing over her. This was her vision brought to life: the ultimate "comfy zone." Lofty stacks of pillows, draped blankets covering every flat surface, and snacks as far as the eye could see—popcorn bowls, candy, cans of soda—and her pièce de resistance: chocolate-dipped strawberries. After all, if you were going to throw a movie night, you had to do it right.
"This," she declared, hands on her hips, "is movie night done right."
From his spot on the edge of the sofa, James shot her a look only he could muster—a blend of amusement and scepticism. "You're acting like you're the first person to host a movie night."
Aria turned to him, her smile unwavering. "I perfected them."
Cass Monroe, perched on the armrest next to Rowan, surveyed the scene with a smirk. "I have to say, Aria, I'm impressed. I expected more chaos."
"Just give it time," Rowan chimed in, grinning as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "It's early yet."
Aria rolled her eyes. If chaos arrived tonight, it would surely be wearing Rowan's name. He had an uncanny ability to attract it—an unspoken contract between the universe and his outrageousness. Not that she would change him; his antics added an element of surprise. But her attention drifted to the snack table, where Marcus and Devon leaned dangerously close to a bowl of M&M's, laughing about some basketball game.
Her gaze skimmed across the room to Luelle, who was tucked into a corner cushion, appearing almost out of place amid the lively chaos. The soft glow of the string lights reflected off her glasses, illuminating the serene concentration on her face as she quietly observed the group. That was Luelle—unflustered and unfazed, as if she were viewing the world through a lens that no one else could fully appreciate. Aria admired that quality; Luelle didn't need to compete for attention; her presence naturally drew people in.
Then there was Ethan, lingering at the back of the room as if uncertain of his place among them. Though his posture was relaxed, hands shoved in his pockets, Aria knew better; his eyes were always scanning, always calculating. She locked eyes with him, raised an eyebrow, and motioned toward the pile of blankets beside Luelle.
"Are you going to stand there all night, or are you actually going to join us?"
Ethan hesitated for just a moment, then took the hint and slid into the empty seat. Aria noticed the fleeting look Luelle shot in his direction before she lowered her gaze back to the bowl of popcorn in her lap—subtle, yet telling. Interesting.
"All right, everyone!" Aria clapped her hands, gaining their attention. "What's first on the line-up? Comedy? Horror? Or Rowan trying to justify his terrible taste in movies?"
"Well, excuse me," Rowan replied, his voice dripping with mock offense. "My taste is impeccable."
"Impeccably bad," Cass shot back, prompting a wave of laughter.
Aria leaned against the wall, watching as the group fell into their familiar banter. This was her favourite part of gatherings like this—the noise, the energy, the way everyone's personalities melded together. It made her space feel alive, just the way she liked it.
But then her eyes caught Luelle, who had gone rigid. Too still. The smile that had graced her face was gone, and her fingers gripped the popcorn bowl resting in her lap. Her gaze flickered to the window, then snapped back to the group, a furrow forming between her brows.
Intrigued, Aria leaned closer. "Luelle," she teased, scooting over to sit beside her, "don't tell me you saw a ghost. This isn't a horror movie—at least, not yet."
Luelle blinked, startled, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I thought I heard something at the window."
Aria gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "Something at the window? Was it the spirit of bad movie choices? Or perhaps Rowan's favourite action star demanding justice?"
Rowan threw his hands up, and the room erupted in laughter. "If it's Vin Diesel, let him in."
Luelle chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just the wind."
"Or the wind's evil twin," Aria quipped, wrapping an arm around Luelle's shoulders. "Don't worry. We've got popcorn-based weapons. If any ghost shows up at the window, we'll take it down."
That earned Luelle a genuine smile, and Aria squeezed her playfully before standing. She was confident it was nothing—Luelle was simply skittish. Yet the moment lingered in the back of her mind as Marcus and Devon approached the empty seats around Luelle, their voices still echoing fragments of their previous conversation.
Marcus plopped down with an ease only he could muster and immediately reached for Luelle's popcorn without a second glance. "You okay over here, Luelle?" he asked between bites.
Luelle offered him a blank stare, mildly amused. "Yeah. Thanks for asking."
Devon grinned and playfully jabbed Marcus with his elbow. "Don't mind him. He has no limits when it comes to snacks—or anything else."
"Not true," Marcus retorted, flicking a piece of popcorn at Devon. "I just have very, very good taste in food."
"Well, let's hope your taste in movies is just as good," Luelle replied dryly, surprising Aria and earning a laugh from the boys.
James let out an exaggerated groan from across the room, drawing everyone's attention. "Can we please start this movie before I die of ancient?"
"All right, all right!" Aria exclaimed, throwing her hands up in surrender. "Rowan, grab the remote. Let's get this show on the road."
As the lights dimmed, Aria found her place, pausing briefly to glance at the window. There was nothing—only the curtain gently swaying in the breeze. Yet for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw movement beyond it.
She quickly dismissed the thought, refocusing on the laughter surrounding her, the glow of the TV screen. Snacks, laughter, and maybe a little chaos—that was what this night was all about.
Or so she told herself.
Luelle
Luelle sank back into the cushion, allowing the warmth of the room to envelop her, like a meticulously arranged backdrop to a life she couldn't quite claim as her own. The atmosphere buzzed with energy—Aria's exhilaration electrifying every corner, Rowan's theatrical flair fuelling the banter, and James lamenting dramatically about the movie's delayed start. The sounds mingled—overlapping voices, playful jabs exchanged, laughter spilling into the soft glow of string lights.
She was here. In this room. Part of it.
That was what mattered most.
Reaching into the bowl of popcorn, she focused on the simple motion, anchoring herself in something familiar. The scents of pizza, melted chocolate, and a hint of fabric softener from the blankets scattered across the floor wafted through the air. Aria's house radiated the warmth of a well-loved space—a sanctuary meant for gathering, for belonging.
Yet, she was still a newcomer to the idea of belonging.
Her gaze flicked to Ethan before she could stop herself. He lingered at the edge of the room, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he were present but unwilling to fully immerse himself in the ambiance. Ethan had always had that quality—detached in ways most people overlooked. But Luelle noticed. She had spent enough time with him to recognize that subtle distance, the way he scanned the room without searching for anything specific.
Sometimes, it unsettled her.
Not because she deemed it dangerous, but because she understood it all too well.
She briefly wondered if that was why she found herself attracted to him, despite herself.
But before the thought could take root, a flicker of movement outside the window caught her eye for a fleeting moment, and her grip tightened anxiously around the popcorn bowl. The room's warmth—the laughter, the teasing, the twinkling lights—suddenly felt distant, like a thin veil separating her from a reality she couldn't afford to forget.
She forced herself to turn away, to focus on the lively group before her, but her thoughts clung stubbornly to the discomfort. The memory of the attempted hit-and-run surged unbidden, sharp and vivid: the screech of tires, the adrenaline rush, the icy certainty that someone intended to harm Ethan.
Her pulse steadied, her breathing calmed, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her chest. Whoever orchestrated the attack had been deliberate and strategic. Now, nestled in laughter and comfort, she couldn't shake the feeling that the danger wasn't over.
Her eyes darted back to the window, her mind racing. Was it paranoia? Or something more ominous?
Ignoring it wasn't an option—not when Ethan's safety was at stake. She automatically reacts to Aria's question and teasing about ghosts.
Marcus and Devon slid into the empty spots beside her, their casual laughter spilling over from their previous conversation. Marcus reached over and grabbed a handful of her popcorn, oblivious to the fact that he hadn't asked.
"You okay over here, Luelle?" he asked, chewing slowly and sinking back into the cushions as if he were meant to be there all along.
She blinked at him, a hint of amusement flickering in her thoughts. "Yeah. Thanks for asking."
Marcus laughed and playfully nudged Devon. "Don't mind him. He doesn't have boundaries when it comes to snacks—or anything else."
"Not true," Marcus shot back, flicking a piece of popcorn at Devon. "I just have great culinary taste."
Luelle allowed herself a small but genuine smile. "Well, let's hope your movie taste is just as good."
Their laughter drew her back into the moment, stitching her into the fabric of their camaraderie. She savoured the feeling—the warmth of their presence, the effortless flow of conversation. Yet, the pressure in her chest refused to dissipate, and the edges of her senses remained too raw, too attuned to the lingering discomfort.
About twenty minutes into the movie, Luelle abruptly stood up, smoothing her hands over her jeans. "I'm going to the bathroom," she said softly.
No one questioned her—why would they? It was a mundane excuse, nothing unusual.
Except for Ethan.
She felt his gaze on her as she moved, but she didn't look up.
The second-floor bathroom was empty, the low hum of voices below echoing through the walls. Luelle turned on the faucet as she approached the window, just in case someone was listening.
She unlatched it and pushed it open in one fluid motion, the chilly night air brushing against her skin.
In an instant, she was outside.
She landed lightly, her movements steady against the house's siding. The impact barely registered. Years of training had conditioned her to shift her weight just so, to land silently, to navigate uneven ground with confidence. She had become more than just a careful observer; she could move unnoticed, slipping through spaces others wouldn't dare attempt.
A second-story drop was nothing.
The backyard was a tapestry of shadows, the streetlights casting pale pools of yellow across the pavement beyond the fence.
And then she saw it.
A figure.
Standing just behind the trees, perfectly positioned out of sight—yet close enough to observe the house clearly.
Watching.
Luelle's heart slowed, no longer racing or panicking—just honing in on the moment.
She inhaled slowly, narrowing her eyes as she memorized the stance, the silhouette, the way they calculated their stillness.
Whoever—or whatever—they were, they were not here by chance.
She paused for just a moment longer, then slipped back inside as quietly as she had exited.
No one noticed as she re-entered the living room, sinking back into the cushion with an inscrutable expression.
But she knew one thing for sure.
Someone was watching them.
Ethan
Ethan sat on the edge of the gathering, his posture easy, his expression unreadable. He had always preferred to observe rather than insert himself into the rhythm of a group, but tonight, his focus kept drifting—specifically toward Luelle. It wasn't intentional, not really, but it happened anyway. The way she moved, the way she listened more than she spoke, the quiet intelligence behind every glance—he noticed all of it.
And then, he heard her.
"I just thought I heard something at the window."
Her voice was calm, measured, but there was something beneath it—something not quite certain. It wasn't fear, exactly, but awareness. The kind that made his own instincts sharpen.
Ethan glanced toward the window, but Aria had already jumped in with playful teasing, brushing aside whatever hesitation had flickered across Luelle's face. He watched as Luelle responded, letting the laughter around her soften the moment, and he knew she was deliberately allowing it to pass.
Still, it stuck with him.
He had hesitated earlier, debating whether to take the spot beside her. He wanted to—more than he wanted to admit—but something had held him back. Instead, Marcus and Devon had taken the open spaces, effortlessly folding into conversation as if they had always been meant to sit there.
Ethan told himself it didn't matter.
But now, as he watched Luelle interact with them, humour slipping into her responses, he felt something odd settle in his chest. Not quite regret. Not quite frustration. Just... something.
Ethan wasn't fully engaged in the movie. He was watching, listening, but not truly absorbed. His attention drifted in small, careful ways—to the cadence of conversations, to the weight of interactions, to the unspoken things between words.
And then, Luelle stood.
"I'm going to the bathroom," she said quietly, her voice smooth, unassuming.
Most of the group barely reacted, too lost in the screen or their conversations to register the absence of one person. But Ethan noticed.
She avoided his gaze before leaving, but he followed her with his eyes, watching as she climbs up the stairs.
Time stretched differently after that.
A few minutes passed. More than it should have.
The hum of conversation continued, the occasional bursts of laughter cutting through the film's dialogue, but Ethan felt her absence like an interruption in the pattern.
Too long.
Not suspicious—not yet.
But notable.
His fingers flexed slightly against his knee, the thought lingering.
And when she returned, settling back into her seat, her expression unreadable, he felt it again.
Something was off.
And he was going to find out what.