Winging it, p.15
Winging It, page 15
Or pretending too hard. Honestly, with him, it could go either way.
Either way, I was ready.
Almost.
Maybe.
Probably.
I grabbed my keys and headed out the door before I could overthink it one more time.
The moment I stepped into Pulse, the bass hit me like a second heartbeat, steady and thrumming through my ribs. Neon lights splashed across the walls — electric blues, candy pinks — painting everything in a dizzy wash of color. It smelled like citrus and sweat and something sweet underneath it all, like the memory of last night’s laughter still clinging to the air.
I kept my strides easy, casual, even though my pulse was trying to sprint out of my body. Blending in was the mission. I wasn’t Aurora Vale, agent-in-training, professional overthinker. Tonight, I was just another face in the crowd, chasing a drink and a little neon-soaked oblivion.
Groups clustered around low tables, their laughter spilling out into the beats. A couple swayed against each other near the bar, lost in their own world. Nobody gave me a second glance — which was exactly the goal. Invisible by being perfectly normal.
I made my way to the bar, resting my elbows on the polished counter like I belonged there. The bartender glanced over, wiping down a glass with a casual air, but when his eyes landed on me, recognition lit up his face.
“Well, well,” he said, flashing a grin that was a little too bright to be professional. “If it isn’t Finn’s favorite customer.”
I blinked, caught off guard for half a second before sliding into a smile. The neighbor—Chris. I hadn't realized he worked here too. “Guilty,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, casual. “What gave me away?”
“Hard to forget someone who actually tips well and smiles while doing it,” he teased, leaning a little closer over the bar. “You looking for the usual—or should I whip up something special?”
“Just something normal,” I said, mirroring his easy tone, “but, you know, with a little sparkle.”
He chuckled, a low sound, and winked like we were sharing some grand secret. “Normal but sparkling. Story of my life.”
As he turned to mix the drink, I shifted my weight, letting my gaze drift across the room like I didn’t have a care in the world. No sign of the woman yet. No sign of Eren either.
I was alone, but not really. Not with a mission draped across my shoulders like a second, invisible cloak.
The bartender slid a tall glass toward me with a flourish; the drink fizzing happily under the lights, swirling with soft pink and a lazy twist of lemon. “One ‘normal but sparkling’ for the lonely bar hopper,” he said, flashing another grin.
I wrapped my fingers around the chilled glass; the condensation dampening my skin as I lifted it for a slow, measured sip. "Emphasis on the lonely."
Sweet. Bubbly. Completely unthreatening.
Exactly what I needed to be—on the surface, anyway.
Perfect cover.
I leaned my hip against the bar, scanning the crowd again under the guise of sipping my drink. Every shadow felt sharper tonight. Every laugh seemed just a little too loud. Somewhere in this neon jungle was the thread we needed to pull—and I was ready.
At least… I hoped I was ready.
I took another sip of my drink, savoring the sweet fizz and pretending that the slight tremor in my hands was from the cold glass, not the nerves tightening my stomach into a neat little knot. The laughter, the clink of glasses, the swirl of neon light — for a moment, I let myself feel almost normal. Almost.
Then Eren materialized at my side like a particularly judgmental storm cloud. “You’re supposed to blend in,” he said, voice low and gruff, like he was personally offended by my existence.
I blinked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence, and flashed a slow, knowing smile. “What are you talking about?”
He gave me a look. That look — the one that could kill weaker mortals with a single furrow of his brow. He waved a hand at me, vaguely, like my entire being was the problem.
“That,” he said, voice practically vibrating with disapproval.
I glanced down at myself, genuinely confused. “Jeans,” I said brightly, gesturing at my outfit like it was Exhibit A in my defense. “Low-key. Normal. Casual and approachable.”
He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Jeans don’t negate… everything else.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, feigning shock. “Everything else? You mean this devastating aura of charm and intrigue?”
Eren’s jaw flexed, and for a second — a tiny second — I thought I caught the faintest twitch of a smile. He folded his arms, looming in that classic I’m not mad, just disappointed pose.
“You’re supposed to be forgettable,” he deadpanned. “You look like you’re about to headline a Dominion recruitment poster.”
I snorted, trying — and failing — to hide my laughter behind another sip of my drink. “What do you want me to do? Wear a sack and shuffle around muttering about taxes?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” he muttered, scanning the crowd again with that intense, predatory focus of his.
I leaned in slightly, bumping my shoulder against his just to be annoying. “Admit it. You’re just mad because I’m setting the bar too high.”
“You’re setting something too high,” he said under his breath, not quite meeting my eyes.
Before I could tease him more, his gaze sharpened — hawk-like — toward the far end of the bar.
“There,” he said quietly.
I followed his line of sight — and there she was. The woman. The one who didn’t belong.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties, exuding a sleek, predatory energy that set her apart from the easygoing crowd. She lounged in a booth near the back of the club, her posture deceptively relaxed as she stirred a drink she had no intention of drinking. Every movement was precise, deliberate — like a cat toying with its prey.
Her sharp gaze roamed over the club with casual disinterest until it landed on Eren. Something shifted in her expression — a glint of recognition, maybe calculation — as she watched him. It wasn’t the look of a woman admiring a stranger; it was sharper, more assessing, like she was mentally slotting him into some complicated equation.
“She’s looking this way,” I whispered, keeping my movements casual.
Eren’s shoulders tensed.
“She’s definitely looking at you,” I added, barely able to keep the wicked grin off my face. “You should go flirt.”
He turned to glare at me like I’d suggested he jump off a cliff. “I don’t flirt.”
“Oh, come on,” I teased. “You’ve got that whole broody thing down. Some people are into that, you know.”
He grumbled something unintelligible — probably a curse — and started moving toward her without another word.
This was going to be good.
I took another leisurely sip of my drink, barely hiding my grin as I watched the woman continue to eye Eren like he was a particularly difficult math problem she was determined to solve. I leaned closer to him, elbow brushing his arm, and said under my breath, “You need the practice.”
Eren shot me a look so scathing it could’ve curdled my drink. “This is not a strategy,” he growled, voice low enough that only I could hear over the pulse of the music.
“Oh, but it is,” I said brightly, swirling my straw in my glass for extra flair. “You infiltrate her personal space. Establish trust. Use your rugged, emotionally repressed charm. Easy.”
He looked ready to bolt right then and there. I made an exaggerated shooing motion toward the woman’s booth, almost knocking my drink over. “Go on! Be mysterious and broody. Chicks love that.”
Eren closed his eyes like he was praying for patience — or divine intervention. “I regret everything that led me to this moment,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.
I leaned back on my stool, purely reveling in his misery. “Tell her you’re emotionally unavailable but might be convinced otherwise with the right tragic backstory. Bonus points if you sigh dramatically.”
He glared at me, jaw tight. “You are insufferable.”
“And yet,” I sang under my breath, lifting my glass in a mock toast, “here you are. Now go. Flirt like your case depends on it.”
The sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a sigh of defeat, but he finally turned and started stalking toward her table like he was heading into battle — which, honestly, wasn’t far off.
I almost clapped. Almost.
I watched Eren weave through the crowd, biting my lip hard to keep my laughter from bubbling out. It was almost criminal how bad he was at this — all stiff posture and grim determination, like he was about to interrogate the woman instead of flirt with her.
But underneath the amusement, a ripple of nerves twisted in my stomach. This wasn’t just entertainment anymore. If Eren could get her talking, if he could crack whatever careful shell she was hiding behind, we might finally have a real lead — a thread to pull on that could unravel the whole knot of Finn’s death.
I shifted my weight on the stool, clutching my drink tighter as I watched him approach her table. Every move felt loaded, every smile he forced more painful than the last. Come on, I silently urged him. Don’t scare her off. Just… pretend you’re a human being for five minutes.
The woman tilted her head slightly, regarding him with a cool sort of curiosity. She didn’t recoil — that was good — but she didn’t exactly look charmed either. I leaned forward, my heart thudding against my ribs.
One wrong move and she’d vanish back into the shadows, taking our chance at answers with her.
Chapter
Twenty-One
I leaned back on my stool, fingers curling loosely around my glass as I watched Eren approach the woman. The way he moved — all stiff shoulders and grim determination — made me want to laugh and groan at the same time. He had the subtlety of a battering ram dressed up in good intentions.
Before I could get too lost in the show, Chris slid back over, polishing a glass with the casual ease of someone who belonged to the pulse of this place.
“So,” he said, flashing me a grin that practically winked under the neon lights. “What’s a sweet thing like you doing in a den of bad decisions like Pulse? You look like you should be frosting cupcakes somewhere.”
I laughed, keeping my eyes trained on Eren even as I tossed a reply over my shoulder. “Maybe I took a wrong turn at the frosting station. Guess I’m blending in.”
Chris snorted. “Blend in? You? Nah. You stick out like a daisy in a junkyard.” He leaned in, his elbow resting on the counter as he gave me a lazy once-over. Not creepy — just amused.
I smiled back, easy and light, but my gaze kept tugging toward Eren and the woman. She was leaning in closer now; her posture a little too familiar for my liking.
Chris caught where I was looking and chuckled low under his breath. “Ahhh. So that’s who’s got your halo twisted.”
I stiffened slightly but kept it playful. “He’s just… working.”
“Working real hard at brooding, maybe.” Chris grinned wider. “Looks more like he’s daring her to run.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out a little thinner than I intended. Especially when the woman’s hand brushed Eren’s arm — light, practiced, and way too intimate for someone we were supposed to be investigating.
Something flared in my chest — sharp, protective. I swallowed it down with a sip of my drink.
Chris nudged me lightly with his elbow. “If he blows it, you know, I’m available for backup. I actually know how to flirt.”
I flashed him a bright smile even as my heart climbed higher into my throat. “Thanks, Chris. I’ll keep that in mind.”
But my attention wasn’t on him anymore. Not really. It was locked onto Eren, onto every tiny shift of his body, every faint curve of his mouth as he tried to play a part he clearly hated.
And all I could do was sit here, sipping something sweet, while the stakes climbed higher with every heartbeat.
I took another sip of my drink, still half-focused on Eren across the room, when Chris drifted closer, wiping down the bar with lazy swipes. His presence was casual, easy — the kind of comfortable buzz that made it easy to forget we were all sitting on the edge of something dangerous.
I leaned an elbow on the counter, glancing at him. “Hey, Chris… you knew Finn pretty well, right?”
Chris looked up from the rag in his hand, his smile softening. “Yeah. He was a good guy. Always had time for everyone.”
I hesitated, then pushed a little further. “Can you think of anything… off lately? Before he died, I mean. Besides what you already mentioned?"
Chris’s face shifted slightly — not dramatic, just enough to tell me I’d hit something tender. He leaned in a little, dropping his voice so it wouldn’t carry. “Now that you mention it… yeah. Finn was different those last few weeks. Jumpy. Kept looking over his shoulder.”
I swirled my drink, feeling the fizz tickle my fingers. “Any idea why?”
He shrugged, but there was a tension to it, like he was choosing his words. “He mentioned someone — said they were trying to pull him into something he didn’t want to be part of. Off-the-books Dominion stuff.”
My heart skipped. “Off-the-books like… experimental?”
Chris gave a tight, uneasy smile. “Something like that. Finn never spelled it out. Just said it was ‘messy’ and he didn’t want anything to do with it.”
I watched Eren over Chris’s shoulder, the way he leaned in to hear the woman better. She touched his arm, and something cold tightened in my chest before I shoved the feeling down.
“Did Finn ever say who was pushing him?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
Chris shook his head. “No names. But I remember one night — late, place was almost empty — he got into it with someone. A woman. Blonde. Sharp dresser. Real intense energy.” He met my eyes meaningfully. “Kind of like her.”
I followed his glance back to the booth, where Eren and the woman were still talking. Still too close.
Chris straightened, tapping the counter lightly with his knuckles. “Whatever Finn got caught up in, it scared him bad enough to start thinking about quitting.”
I nodded, tucking that away even as my stomach twisted. If Finn had been scared… if this woman had anything to do with it…
I couldn’t afford to miss a thing tonight.
I traced the rim of my glass with my fingertip, still watching Eren out of the corner of my eye, when Chris leaned in a little closer. “You know,” he said, voice lower now, almost hesitant, “he was even talking to Carissa about it. The last couple of weeks before… everything."
I straightened slightly. “Talking about what?”
Chris shrugged, but there was something uneasy behind the motion. “About quitting. He’d stay late after his shifts. Sometimes I’d catch them talking real serious at the bar, and other times in her office. I think she tried to talk him out of it. Finding good bartenders around here isn’t exactly easy, you know?”
I nodded slowly, trying to piece it all together. “Why didn’t you mention this before? At the apartment?”
He gave me a sheepish look, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure it mattered. I didn’t want to make a big deal over nothing. But now…”
He trailed off, the weight of it sinking between us.
I reached across the bar before I could second-guess myself and gently touched his hand. “I’m sorry about your friend, Chris.”
He looked down at where my fingers brushed his, something softening in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. A tension he’d been carrying melted away, just a little.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat. Then he smiled — a real, if slightly sad, smile. “You want another drink? On the house.”
I smiled back, grateful not just for the information, but for the small, human kindness tucked inside it. “Yeah. That sounds great.”
Chris nodded and moved off to pour something new, and I turned my gaze back to Eren and the woman, my mind racing even faster now.
I set my drink down on the bar, barely touching it. The sparkle of it caught the low lights, glittering like it belonged to another life — one where I wasn’t sitting here trying to keep my hands steady and my heart from racing.
I leaned forward on my elbows, keeping my posture casual as my gaze swept back toward Eren and the woman. She was leaning in too close; her smile all sugar and poison. The way she moved was deliberate — like a cat circling a cornered bird — every flick of her hair, every subtle brush of her hand across his arm, calculated.
Eren held steady. From the outside, you’d think he was carved from stone. But I knew him better now — enough to spot the faintest tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers curled just slightly on the table between them. He wasn’t comfortable. He was enduring.
I stiffened without meaning to, a pulse of heat flashing beneath my skin. The move was innocuous on the surface — casual, even. But it felt like she was staking some kind of silent claim, and the surge of protectiveness that flared inside me caught me completely off guard.
This wasn’t part of the job. This wasn’t protocol.
I dragged in a slow breath, willing the tension out of my shoulders. Focus, Auri. Focus. It’s not about him. It’s about the mission.
But my fingers tightened around my glass all the same.
Across the room, Eren shifted slightly, leaning away from her touch in a move so subtle no one else might’ve caught it. But I did. And that tiny act — that refusal to let her close — anchored me again.
He wasn’t falling for whatever act she was putting on.
I tucked the rising tide of emotion back where it belonged, straightened my posture, and kept my eyes sharp. We were here for answers. Whatever stirred beneath the surface — that was a problem for another day.
