You ever get that feeling where you walk into a room, and the emotional pressure hits you like a truck carrying a second truck?

  That was the vibe when I came down the stairs and saw Alex and Jules standing in the kitchen. Not speaking. Just… standing. Like two cowboys at high noon, if cowboys had nervous fidgeting and trust issues instead of revolvers.

  I was holding a jar of peanut butter, which was a dumb prop to carry in this moment, but I wasn’t going to give up the snack just because my social anxiety suddenly had a front-row seat.

  I did what any self-respecting coward would do—I backpedaled behind the wall and hovered just out of sight.

  Not proud. But curious.

  Jules spoke first.

  “I didn’t expect you to like me,” she said. Her voice was calm. Measured. “But I didn’t think you’d avoid me like I was contagious, either.”

  Alex didn’t answer at first. I could hear the clink of her metal ring tapping the counter. She always did that when she was thinking. Or trying not to break something.

  “Why did you stay?” Alex finally asked. “After you told Elliot the truth. You could’ve just… left.”

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  “Because I owed him,” Jules said.

  “Guilt?”

  “Yeah. And more.”

  I peeked just slightly. Jules was leaning against the sink, arms folded. Alex, across from her, didn’t have the closed-off body language anymore. She looked... tired.

  “You hurt him,” Alex said. “He’s been through a lot. You made it worse.”

  “I know.”

  “He trusted you.”

  “I know.”

  There was a pause.

  “I don’t trust you,” Alex said, almost like she was daring Jules to flinch. “And I don’t know if I ever will.”

  Jules didn’t flinch.

  “That’s fair,” she said.

  I blinked. Huh. Okay.

  Alex took a deep breath.

  “You didn’t have to tell him the truth, though. You could’ve lied. Blamed it on survival. Claimed you didn’t have a choice.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Jules said. “At least, not a good one. But I told him because I couldn’t stand the idea of him forgiving a version of me that wasn’t real.”

  Damn. That hit hard. I looked at the peanut butter like it owed me emotional support.

  Alex shifted, voice softer now. “You know, for a while, I thought you were trying to take him back.”

  Jules tilted her head. “Take him back?”

  “Yeah. Like, romantically. I saw the way you looked at him.”

  “I look at him like I’m terrified he’s going to punch me in the sleep,” Jules said.

  Alex snorted. “So, like, affection mixed with mortal fear. Got it.”

  They both smiled. Just briefly.

  “But no,” Jules continued. “I’m not trying to steal him. I just… wanted to try to be someone he doesn’t regret saving.”

  That one caught me.

  I leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. I suddenly felt heavy in a way I couldn’t describe. Guilty, maybe. For eavesdropping. For dragging both of them into this mess. For not having an answer to anything, ever.

  Back in the kitchen, Alex sighed.

  “I’m not gonna pretend I like you. Not yet,” she said.

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “But,” Alex added, “Elliot’s usually pretty good at judging character, even when he sucks at everything else.”

  “Rude,” I muttered.

  “So if he sees something worth trusting in you… I’ll try.”

  I peeked again. Alex was offering her hand.

  Jules blinked like it was a trap. Slowly reached out. Shook it.

  “Just know,” Alex added, “if you screw him over again, I will kill you in your sleep.”

  “Understood.”

  They let go.

  I smiled. Then I realized I was still holding the peanut butter. And if I stayed here any longer, I’d get caught and become the topic of a very awkward third round of confessions.

  I tiptoed back upstairs like a raccoon with a guilty conscience and a snack jar.