Page 83 of Shadowed Whispers

I chuckle. “Social media complicates everything, doesn’t it?” Ironic, because I don’t have any social media.

“It does.” Tori laughs, then she grows serious again. “There’s more—like being able to laugh and be serious in the same conversation, providing unconditional support, sharing the spotlight, and not taking every jab personally.”

I listen, absorbing each point. “Sounds comprehensive, but it also sounds like a lot to keep track of.”

“It is,” Tori concedes. “And then there’s the last one, which we both broke, unfortunately. Breaking girl code isn’t the end of a friendship, but failing to apologize is. It’s about acknowledging when you’ve hurt each other and trying to make it right.”

I nod, feeling the weight of her words. “That’s the one that hits home tonight.”

“Yeah.” Tori sighs. “We’ve both screwed up, according to these rules, but we’re here now, apologizing and talking. Maybe that’s what really matters.”

I lean back, considering all the rules she laid out. “These rules... They are supposed to guide us, right? Help us be better friends?”

“Exactly,” she confirms. “They aren’t laws, but guidelines to help us navigate the tricky parts of relationships.”

“You know,” I drawl, hoping to find a balance, “these rules aren’t that weird or complicated at all. Perhaps it was the friends making it hard and complicated.”

Tori’s entire face falls as she thinks about what I just said, her mouth working as she blinks at me. “That is so profound.”

I hide a smile, pleased with the moment of clarity we’ve reached. As the night progresses, the bar remains dimly lit, the soft chatter of the few patrons blending with the subtle notes of jazz playing in the background. This unlikely setting has facilitated a deeper understanding, one that might just be the foundation we needed to mend and possibly grow.

Luckily, I don’t have to reply because the door jingles and a bunch of students come in. It’s nearing ten, and the bar is getting busier by the minute.

Throughout the evening, I’ve felt an odd prickle of awareness on the back of my neck, as if someone’s watching me. It’s a sensation that’s become all too familiar lately, ever since those strange encounters last month. Just as I’m pondering this, silently hoping it’s just my imagination, Matteo walks in. The sight of him is reassuring, but it also creates a mix of emotions. I’ve been watching the door, half expecting trouble after recent events, and part of me wants Chloe or Amanda to show up just to see how Tori reacts under pressure. Will her support hold up when she’s faced with them?

I glance at Tori, who is smiling behind her glass. The dim lights of the bar reflect softly in her eyes, giving her a mischievous look.

“What?” I whisper as I hand a beer to another patron.

“Nothing at all,” she sings, a playful note in her voice.

“I’m cutting you off.” I point at her, half tempted to give her another drink, but a part of me doesn’t want her to puke.

Is this what friendship feels like?

“Hey!” She holds up her hands, laughing. “Tall, dark, and handsome over there has his eyes on you.” She jerks her head toward Matteo, who steps behind the bar, grabs a stool, and just sits there.

“What the hell is he doing?” I hiss. He and Leo have been so busy over the last couple of weeks with rugby that I only see them in passing or in class, and a part of me misses them.

Tori leans over the bar to clumsily whisper in my ear. “He wants you.”

“Sit down before I have to take you to the hospital.” I push her back gently.

Snorting, she grumbles, “Shifters don’t need hospitals.”

I snap my head around to look at her. “What?”

“Gem,” Matteo calls to me.

“Go get that dick, girl!” she cheers.

It’s such a one-eighty with her that I have no idea how to handle the switch aside from hoping like hell she remembers this entire conversation in the morning, which she very well might not.

Stepping over to Matteo, I ignore the people at my bar begging for drinks and ask, “What the hell are you doing back here?”

He slowly turns his intense gaze to me. “Watching you.”

Shouldn’t he be at a game? It’s Friday.

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