Page 243 of Craving Venom

“Oh my God.”

“I’m just saying,” Tria grins. “Stalkers don’t usually come with full housekeeping benefits.”

I groan and shove her.

I don’t even notice how long I’ve been lying on Tria’s lap until I blink and realize my neck’s stiff and Tria’s fingers are absently running through my hair, her other hand scrolling through some article on her phone.

Somewhere along the way, I’d curled into her lap like I was twelve again and she was the only person keeping the monsters out of my closet.

We’re talking about the Nighthawk, of all things.

Tria hates true crime. Calls it “murder porn for people with anxiety.” But she’s still here, listing off Reddit theories and quietly mocking the ones that think he’s a former Navy SEAL turned trauma cleaner.

“That one guy said his boots are military-grade,” Tria hums, amused. “As if Amazon doesn’t sell knockoffs for like thirty bucks.”

I grin against her thigh. “You hate this stuff.”

“I do,” she admits. “But you like it. And you needed something that isn’t… you know.” Her hand stills in my hair. “Throat hands.”

I groan. “Never say ‘throat hands’ again.”

“Okay, but like, you were into it.”

“I will smother you with this pillow.”

I laugh. It’s soft, but real. And it’s been too long since something didn’t feel heavy.

Tria glances at her watch. “Shit. I should start getting ready.”

I frown and shift to sit up. “Why? You start at midnight.”

“It’s not midnight today,” she says. “It’s eight.”

“Why?”

“I’m covering for Corrine.”

I pause, mid-stretch. “Corrine? Why?”

“No idea. Wes texted me earlier, asked if I could take her shift.”

Wes. Their manager. Bit of a control freak with a god complex and a God-awful mustache.

I rub the back of my neck. “That’s weird. Doesn’t Corrine live for her shifts? You’ve told me, like, fifty times she once worked through a stomach flu just to pay for her stats textbook.”

“Yeah,” Tria nods, already standing and pulling on her hoodie. “Girl’s got more debt than moral boundaries. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her call out.”

“That’s why it’s weird. And Wes didn’t say why?”

“Nope. Just said she was out and he needed someone to fill.” She glances at her phone again. “But she hasn’t shown up the last two days, now that I think about it.”

I watch her tie her shoes as tension sinks back into my shoulders like a warning crawling under my skin.

It’s probably nothing.

Probably.

My phone pings.

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