Market Square

The longer she walked through the night, the more she began to question her actions.

After walking down the tiresome hill, venturing down the darkened back roads, and passing by the vacant gas station, she headed down the road leading toward the city buildings, many of them always lit up at night, despite nobody being there anymore.

And, as she wandered the street for a long while, eventually passing by buildings rather than trees, she began to think she shouldn't have left the cabin.

After all, she had no clue where Asher might be—no idea where his old food banks even were—and the inner cusps of downtown were especially unsettling after dark, empty or not.

Yet still, she simply carried on, forcing every doubt to the back of her mind.

The walk was long and tireless, but eventually, she found herself in the heart of downtown, meandering down sidewalks alongside various empty streets, occupied only by the streetlights and the occasional abandoned car.

Just when she turned a corner—Olivia halted, a strange noise suddenly piquing her interest.

She froze in her stance, listening intently.

The noise was far off, but distinct; it was music, echoing from somewhere deeper in the city and bouncing off the walls of the vacant buildings.

Olivia peeked around the corner, squinting into the darkness and observing the nearest empty street. The music was coming from that direction.

Should she turn back, or investigate?

If there was music playing, there were people nearby—and if there were people nearby, maybe they crossed paths with Asher earlier.

If they had, maybe they knew where he was.

Or, maybe they were the reason he never came home.

Olivia gulped, her heart pounding frightfully.

She couldn't know who was playing the music—but more worryingly, she couldn't know if they would be friendly at all.

Despite her body trying to back away, her mind urged her to press on, her curiosity seeming to steer her closer to the ambient music.

Olivia crept down the darkened street, drawing steadily nearer to the blaring tunes.

She'd scope them out from afar, and she'd observe their behavior. If they seemed friendly, then maybe she'd try to talk to them—and if not, then she'd hightail it straight back to the cabin.

When she reached the end of the street, she glimpsed around, suddenly realizing where she was.

It was the road leading to Market Square.

Market Square was a historic part of Knoxville, one that most homebodies would recognize, which often played host to vendors, entertainment, and festivals. The music was louder now, and it seemed to be echoing from the heart of the square.

Olivia peered around the corner, instantly swallowing a gasp.

Market Square was positively packed with people—many dancing, some sitting and eating. All the lights from the Preservation Pub were on and flashing numerous neon colors, the doors open, music blaring from the building, and people were dancing on top of the roof. The fountain was spraying water up from the concrete as people jumped through it, soaking themselves and laughing hysterically. In the center—where Olivia remembered seeing vendors long ago—was a massive crowd around an enormous bonfire. There were vehicles parked crookedly up and down the place, and the most noticeable vehicle was a dark red pickup truck, which was parked with the rear facing the bonfire. The bed of the truck was overflowing with boxes and bags from grocery stores, and people were collecting various types of food from it, placing hotdogs and precooked hamburgers on sticks and holding them over the flames.

The people standing closest to the fire and the pickup truck stood out from the rest; many of them were dressed in overly-punk attire, leather, spikes, chains, chaps, and oddly-dyed hair.

Olivia was inching closer to the crowd, observing with rapt engrossment.

The most interesting member of the punk strangers was a shirtless man with a spiky blond mohawk, wearing a sleeveless leather vest, a spiked collar, spiked bracelets, and leather chaps over a pair of filthy blue jeans.

The strange man was dancing ruthlessly, pumping his fists and thrashing his head. He ran up and down the concrete walkway, setting up a series of large fireworks up and down the square.

"Wow," Olivia breathed, utterly fascinated. "I guess the city's 𝘯𝘰𝘵 empty…"

Up until now, she believed the city was void and vacant—but there were about a hundred people all gathered in Market Square, drinking, cooking, dancing, and partying without a care in the world.

As Olivia approached the crowd, the music became deafening. It sounded like some odd combination of rock music and Irish shanties.

The stranger with the mohawk seemed lost to the song, head-banging to every beat of the rhythm. Others were doing the same, some trying to dance with the same vigor as the mohawked stranger, others simply laughing and cheering them on.

Olivia stepped through the archway and drew closer to the bonfire, her hand still planted firmly on the gun in her pocket, her eyes wandering across the brilliant scene.

Something about this place, these people, was beautiful in the simplest of ways. Somehow, she found it almost inspiring.

"He-he-hey!"

The mohawked stranger whirled around, spotting her and grinning like a madman. He jogged up to her, making her heart skip a beat.

"What 'cha doing, girlie?" he asked, hovering a bit too close. He had a pair of wild green eyes, which were stained with running black makeup.

"I was… just… looking for someone," Olivia stammered. "S-sorry, I'll leave."

"Oooh, you don't have to leave!" he exclaimed, draping an arm around her and gesturing to his truck. "Grab a bite to eat! Grab a bit to drink! Party with us, girlie! It's the end of the fuckin' world! Might as well let loose!"

"I… just need to find my friend," Olivia said timidly. "H-have you seen a guy in a suit?"

"Nope, no suits here. Quite the opposite," the man smirked. "My name's Slate. You?"

"Ah… Olivia."

"Oh, damn, I love that name. It sounds quirky. Tell ya' what, Olivia—I'll give you some of the good stuff. It's my favorite drink, and there's not much left, so you better say thank you!"

Slate sauntered back to his truck, leaning into the passenger seat and collecting a glass bottle of transparent liquor.

He returned and placed it in her hand, then motioned for her to take a sip.

"Go ahead," he said. "That bottle hasn't been opened yet, so you can trust it. I ain't trying to poison you. It's cherry vodka. Tastes like sour punch."

Olivia stared at the bottle doubtfully.

"Come ooon," Slate urged. "You might as well have fun while you can!"

After a moment of hesitation, Olivia popped the bottle open and took a swig, wincing as the burning liquid crawled down her throat.

"Yughk," Olivia mumbled. "How come you're all just partying out here? What's with… all the food and stuff?"

"Well… people gotta eat," Slate told her. "We've been living off the stuff in these restaurants, but that's running low now, so me and my buddies went out and found some stuff at the grocery stores. Plenty for everyone. Why don't you have some?"

Olivia glimpsed at the truck, surveying the giant mountain of looted grocery store foods in the back. "You're sharing with everyone?"

"Well, yeah," Slate said with a shrug. "There's not enough to last for me alone, so there's no point in hoarding it all. It's all gonna be gone sometime soon, whether I share it or not. Might as well give everyone a nice last meal. One big blowout before the end."

Olivia stared at him, honestly lost for words.

All these people seemed so happy, so carefree, but judging by what Slate said, they all believed they would die soon. It was totally bizarre, such a vibrant surge of glee, such an ambiance of joy, though all of it rested upon the belief that they wouldn't survive…

"C'mon, baby," Slate said, taking her hand and kissing it. "This is what we've always dreamed of, every damn one of us. This is real freedom. Let loose! Party your ass off!"

He shed his leather vest and threw it around her, then removed his spiked collar and fastened it around her neck.

Olivia slipped her arms through the open holes, smiling down at the leather vest, the vest large and draping over her much to the contrary of her tightly-fitted jacket, the spiked collar hanging loosely around her neck, just a tad too big for her.

"I like it," she giggled.

Now completely shirtless, all of Slate's tattoos were visible to the world, and he took three slurping gulps of the cherry vodka.

Afterward, another song began playing from the speakers in the pub. He nodded along to the beat, mouthing with the lyrics as the song echoed throughout the square. Many others in the crowd were singing along as well. It seemed everyone in the crowd knew this song by heart.

Instantly, Olivia became lost to the crowd's hysteria, grinning and nodding along with the music. Slate took her hand and swept her into a smooth dance, spinning her around and chanting the chorus along with the crowd.

"𝘏𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢!"

As the guitar broke into the song and the music intensified, Slate leaped on the back of his truck, raising his fists and bellowing his favorite part of the song.

"FREEDOM! FREEDOM! FREE-DOM, FREE-DOM, FREE-DOM!"

The crowd roared along with him, fists in the air, filling the night with triumphant cries of freedom. Olivia joined them without thinking, chanting and dancing amid the chaos.

Slate leaped off the truck and spun Olivia around again, the two of them dancing in the center of the partying masses.

"You like Boomsday?" he asked her. "Y'know… that thing when everyone gathers up in the city and they set off all those fireworks?"

Olivia nodded, still giggling excitedly and glancing around at the partying crowd.

"Well—I have all the city's leftover fireworks from Boomsday," Slate grinned. "Screw Boomsday, baby—𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺!"

At that, he broke away from her and sprinted to the bonfire, grabbing a loose stick from the flames and carrying it off as a torch. He ran up and down the walkway, lighting all the large fireworks one by one, the crowd still singing, chanting, and cheering him on.

"𝘏𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢!"

Olivia watched, feeling an overwhelming sense of enrapture, beaming as the firework fuses sparkled and fizzled down.

When Slate reached the final firework—the largest one of the bunch—he reeled back and chugged an obscene amount of vodka, filling his cheeks with the liquor and holding it tightly in his mouth.

He held the torch up to the firework's fuse, and with a powerful burst—he shot the vodka out of his mouth, creating a beautiful string of flames like a dragon breathing fire. The flames licked the fuse, lighting it and making it spark.

Slate swallowed the rest of the vodka, spun around to his people, and vigorously pumped his fists once again.

"FREEDOOOOOOOOOM!"

And as if on cue—the fireworks began to shoot off in great blasts of light, soaring into the air and illuminating the darkened Knoxville sky. Olivia stared up at the wonderful explosions above, all of them reflecting beautifully against the Sunsphere's exterior in the distance.

The dark, desolate city suddenly seemed brighter and more alive than ever.

-----

Asher's long afternoon of searching ended up yielding little to no fruit.

After searching some choice food banks he'd failed to check before, he found almost nothing.

He might have to start traveling out of the city soon, visiting grocery stores in more isolated locations. He might visit west Knoxville, or maybe Maryville or Louisville. Those places had stores that were more spread out, harder to find and presumably harder to loot from.

Plus—as he and Elliot discussed—he still needed to organize a more permanent survival solution once the looted goods eventually dwindled away.

He slowed to a stop at a traffic light, not because he really needed to, but simply to indulge a thought that just struck him. He rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch, cursing under his breath and only just remembering something he'd overlooked.

"Fuck me," he swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I'm a fucking idiot…"

He'd been gone this long—but he hadn't even searched the very place he left home to scour. He'd poked around a couple other places, and a couple farther food banks that he knew of—but he still hadn't searched the food bank that he and his friends frequented over ten years ago.

So—he sighed and drove on, reaching the outskirts of the city, near one of the slummier areas.

He pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the isolated building.

The food bank was on a hill, which overlooked part of the city, particularly from the area where the early-morning line for the foodbank would stretch off the sidewalk and bleed onto the street, where he and his friends spent countless mornings waiting in line for hours, watching the sun slowly arise on Knoxville's horizon. Across from it was an alleyway between a couple of buildings, one of which was occupied by a few stationary rigs that had been long abandoned and forgotten.

It all looked just the same as it did back in the day.

Directly in front of his car was a bin beside the food bank's entrance. The bin was usually full of free clothes for the homeless. To the left was a narrow metal canopy over a concrete walkway, leading to the building's entrance. He remembered waiting in line behind a number of poor and desperate people as they anticipated the fateful moment when the doors would be opened and they'd be allowed to march inside and claim their free food.

But now, there was no line, and there were no charitable volunteers inside waiting to welcome the poor and homeless. The building sat empty and alone, the window dark, the walkway vacant.

Asher stepped out of the car, holding his gun low by his side. When he approached the glass door, he saw that it had been shattered completely, leaving a gaping hole where the entrance once was.

"Shit," he uttered.

Asher stepped through the opening, swiping some of the loose glass aside. The interior was dark and filled with a wretched, horrific smell. He covered his face with his arm, scowling at the musky scent.

Directly ahead was the front desk, where the visitors were expected to sign in, writing down their name and the number of people they'd have to feed in their household. To the right was the entrance to the back, where there was usually a line of boxes and cans on a long table, soups, veggies, fruits, grains, and whatever else the organization had to spare. At the end of this line, the visitors would break left, collecting sweets from the bakery shelf before heading out of the back room and gathering some produce, dairy, and occasionally, meats. Asher guessed that the end of the line was the source of the horrid smell, where the produce and dairy products always sat, and had long since spoiled.

He didn't know why, but for some reason, Asher marched up to the desk and jotted down his information on the clipboard, just as he always used to.

𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦 – 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯

𝘕𝘰. 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 – 4

When Asher stepped into the back, he saw that the long table was almost completely empty. The boxes were overturned and vacant, and there were no cans or grains sitting in their respective spots. Everything had been taken from the table, as well as the bakery shelf. The pallets behind the table still had a bit of prepackaged hummus in plastic, but Asher guessed it probably would've gone bad by now.

He narrowed his eyes at the back door, which was always locked. That was the storage room, the room containing the food that the volunteers didn't set out on the table. The door appeared untouched, presumably still locked.

Asher moved around the table and approached it, sliding his credit card from his wallet and trying to jimmy the lock, shoving the card between the doorframe and the mechanism. He managed to wedge the card in the right place, but he couldn't pop the lock without the card slipping out.

So, he reared back and planted a solid kick into the door—breaking it open and sending his card flying through the air.

The back room—unlike the rest of the place—had yet to be looted. There were pallets full of canned goods, bottled waters, dehydrated foods in boxes, and more hummus that was past its prime. The produce was spoiled and all the bread had molded, but some of the baked goods were still intact. The first to grab Asher's attention was a large chocolate cake, air-tight inside its plastic dome and seemingly no worse for wear.

"Dibs," he chuckled.

For about half an hour, he loaded up bottled waters, cheap macaroni, and canned goods into the back of the car until he couldn't fit more.

After collecting the necessities, he placed the chocolate cake in the passenger seat, climbed into the car, and drove away.

It was dark now, well after dark, and he knew for certain his friends wouldn't be entirely happy with him, particularly Olivia. She might still be sleeping off her fever, but if she'd woken up and noticed what time it was, she'd surely be worried, or even mad at him.

So, while he drove, Asher took a deep breath, frowning and mentally rehearsing everything he would say to her when he returned home.

He drove up the hill and broke right, driving until he reached Broadway.

When he rolled underneath the interstate bridge, he noticed something strange right away.

This was the part of Knoxville that played host to an enormous and expansive homeless camp.

Under this bridge, Asher always remembered seeing tents, makeshift beds, piles of people's belongings, and of course, homeless people. He remembered how uneasy this street made him, how he hated to drive under this bridge, anticipating the homeless people walking up to his windows and begging—sometimes demanding—money from him. He felt bad for them, but some of them were downright insane, and he never liked being near their tramp camp, especially when he was alone.

Now, however, the tents and beds were all abandoned. For the first time in his life, the bridge on Broadway was completely free of the homeless.

Asher rolled down the street slowly, squinting under both sides of the bridge, seeing no one.

He always remembered seeing an ocean of people here, people with backpacks, some with crutches or wheelchairs. There were so many—all of them people with few options and little to no housing. He originally assumed they would've been evacuated with the rest, but—now that he thought about it—Broadway was the area people in downtown most often liked to turn a blind eye to, and he didn't imagine the military prioritizing these people much at all.

But, if he was right about that—and if the homeless were never evacuated—then where did they all disappear to?

Asher's train of thought suddenly vanished, hearing a muffled ringing from his pocket. He pulled the satellite phone out and flipped it open, holding it to his ear as he drove onward.

"Yeah?"

"Hey… um," Elliot's sleepy, raspy voice entered his ear. "Ash… we've got a problem."

Asher's eyes narrowed at the windshield. "What?"

Elliot—standing in the middle of the cabin's living room, trading grave expressions with Roman and Zach—let out a deep, stressful breath.

"Olivia's gone."

The car came to a stop in the middle of the darkened street, and Asher glared straight ahead, his jaw twitching.

"What," he uttered, adjusting his grasp on the phone. "Whaddo you mean, she's 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦?"

"Well… Roman just came and woke me up… because he couldn't find her anywhere," Elliot informed. "And… my gun's gone, so… we figured she left lookin' for you."

"What the f… why did y… 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦?" Asher growled. "What… between all three of you… none of you could just… 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳?"

Elliot, Roman, and Zach all exchanged grim visages again.

"We're gonna take the van out and look for her," Elliot said. "I don't know when she left, exactly… but she didn't take the van, for some reason…"

"She can't drive," Asher recalled. "She's on foot. That makes it easier. I'll find her. Stay home."

"We can—"

"El—𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦," Asher snapped at him. "I can find her—and I don't need to worry about you keeling over somewhere, too."

He hung up without waiting for a reply—then planted his foot to the gas and shot the car forward, the tires squealing against the pavement.

"Mother… 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳," Asher rumbled, bringing the car to a hazardous turn and racing dangerously around the next corner, his heart hammering furiously as he did.

He sped up and down the darkened streets a bit too quickly, coasting under streetlight after streetlight, scanning up and down the sidewalks and glancing at every alleyway he passed by, searching for a head of short blonde hair.

After about ten minutes of feverishly driving around the empty city, he saw nothing.

"Son of a 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩, Olivia," Asher grumbled to himself, combing his hairs back and feeling terribly urgent, his heart racing madly now.

Then, something miraculous happened—the last thing he expected.

A great explosion erupted from somewhere nearby—followed by a series of shooting lights reaching brilliantly into the sky.

Asher slowed the car to a stop, hunching over the steering wheel and gazing up through the windshield, staring up at the sky in bewilderment.

The balls of light flew up high and exploded into a bombastic display of colors. The fireworks shot up one after another, whizzing, whirring, whistling, and blasting, illuminating the night sky and brightening the city.

𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴?

Asher glared up at them for a moment, his mind instantly racing as fast as his heart.

Olivia wasn't on any of the streets nearby so far—but there were fireworks shooting off deeper in the heart of downtown.

There were people in the city—people who might've crossed paths with her.

It wasn't much of a lead, but it was the only one available to him.

So—Asher revved the engine and sped away, heading toward the direction of the fireworks and dodging a few abandoned cars haphazardly.

He kept a close eye on the sky, turning lefts and rights until he found himself driving directly toward Market Square.

The square was packed with people, music blaring from the pub as a bonfire burned in the middle of the crowd.

Asher parked a safe distance from the crowd, eyeing them in astonishment.

He never imagined that so many people stayed in the city after the evacuation, and he'd certainly never seen any of them before. Then again, he never ventured into this part of the city to do his shopping before…

"𝘏𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢!"

Asher slid the gun into his pants, stepping out of the car and approaching the crowd and surveying them all with caution. He hadn't actually seen a crowd since before the collapse transpired, and there were so many people here, it became more and more unsettling the longer he observed them.

The cabin was a good distance away from the heart of the city—but now, it suddenly seemed as if it wasn't far enough away. No, no distance was far enough away from these types of people. Hell—and Asher had a car full of food parked nearby. Everything about this situation simply screamed potential danger.

"𝘏𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘦-𝘢!"

Asher shook his head, trying to ignore the music and force the troubling thoughts away. He pushed through the crowd, scanning over all their faces in passing. They all seemed like simple drunken idiots, merely partying and enjoying their time, though they didn't seem particularly dangerous as of now. None of them had even noticed his arrival. They didn't seem to care.

Who in this crowd might have seen Olivia? Who should he approach and ask?

Asher glimpsed around, searching for someone who might've been a shepherd to this mob.

"He-hey! I see a suit!" someone exclaimed.

Asher perked up, seeing a shirtless man with a mohawk standing on the back of an overflowing pickup truck.

Slate was grinning from ear to ear, pointing directly at Asher. He leaped off the truck and waltzed toward him.

"You stick out like a sore 𝘢𝘴𝘴, my friend," Slate cackled, slapping Asher on the arm. "What's with the suit?"

Asher stared emptily at him. "I'm looking for someone."

"Yeah, I bet you are," Slate snarked. "She was looking for you too, kept asking if we've seen a guy in a suit. And since you're the only person in Knox County 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 a suit…"

"Where is she?" Asher asked impatiently, speaking with a tone nobody would mistake for a friendly one.

"Chiiill, me amigo," Slate smirked. "Terry's doing her makeup."

Asher squinted at him. "𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵…?"

Slate pointed toward a nearby park bench—where a Goth woman was hunched in front of Olivia, gently applying makeup to her face. A fat man in a band shirt was sitting beside them, and Olivia was telling the man a story about her trip to Myrtle Beach as the woman—Terry—added the finishing touches to Olivia's mascara.

Olivia now had the same painted eyes as Slate, and she was wearing a big black leather vest and a spiked collar around her neck.

Asher sighed. "Jesus Christ."

Olivia spotted him, her eyes instantly lighting up. She leaped from the bench and sprinted up to him, trapping him in a hug.

"There you are!" Olivia gasped. "Have you been here this whole time?"

"No," Asher grumbled. "I just got here. Looking for you."

Olivia's smile weakened. "Oh."

"You left the house alone? 𝘖𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵?" Asher lowered his voice, his eyes shifting untrustingly between Slate and his friends. "Look at these people. Do you think any of them would think twice about—?"

"They're my new friends," Olivia told him. "They're just regular people. And you can't get mad at me, anyway—you're the one who stayed gone all night."

"Yeah, but—"

"You never came home."

"I know—"

"So what was I supposed to think? If you can leave by yourself and stay out after dark, then so can I."

Asher gaped at her, trying to summon a reasonable argument, but none came to him.

Olivia shot him a coy smile. "It's annoying when people just disappear, huh?"

"Hush," Asher fumed. "I went out in a goddamn car, not on foot—and 𝘐 wasn't falling out with a 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳."

"I was just 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 about you, asshole," Olivia griped, her smile vanishing.

Asher stared blankly at her, a bizarre mixture of feelings suddenly welling up inside him. He felt touched that she'd endanger herself for his sake—but he was still angry at her for doing so.

"Whoa, whoa, whoooa!" Slate sauntered over to them, draping an arm around Olivia and Asher. "These bad vibes are killing my buzz. Grab a bite to eat! Grab a bit to drink! Chill out!"

"Thanks—but we need to get going," Asher replied tonelessly, ducking out of his grasp.

"Going?" Slate asked, perking his pierced brow. "Where're you going?"

Asher gave him a cold, unreadable stare. "Home."

"Oh yeah? Where're you staying?" Slate wondered, flashing a friendly smile.

"I'd rather not say," Asher told him.

For a moment, Asher and Slate merely stared at each other, seeming to share a whole conversation through mere eye contact.

Olivia glimpsed uncomfortably between the two of them.

Then, Slate simply nodded. "I getcha. Can't be too careful."

"Yeah." Asher returned the nod, then faced Olivia. "We need to go. You ready?"

"Mhm," Olivia agreed, joining by his side.

"Well… you're free to come back whenever you want," Slate offered. "I wanna dance with you again, Olivia! You better come back and visit us sometime!"

Olivia giggled and waved him off.

Then, they broke away from the bulk of the crowd, Asher leading her out of Market Square.