“I like cute types. Cute and petite. Christine’s taste is similar, so she gives up quickly.”“I also prefer cute and petite.”“What? My sister’s as tall as you—and even bigger!”Now I knew that “sister” meant Christine. I rested my arm on the bar and replied sullenly, “What on earth do you think my relationship with Christine is?”“You’re head over heels for her—chasing her one-sidedly. Though lately it doesn’t seem so one-sided.”“…Doesn’t seem so one-sided?”“I didn’t want to say this, but….” Harry glanced at the patrons by the window, then leaned in close.“When you disappeared, she was worried. She went to Teddy, her manager, demanding to know where you’d gone. Teddy, after fighting with her, was all over the place too, saying you’d vanished. But I never dreamed you’d be right here, outside her door. Honestly, love triangles and all sorts of nonsense, I’ve seen it all between her and Teddy. But I’m always Team Christine.”Harry winked, grabbed his sandwich, and left.—All afternoon, I replayed our conversation while washing dishes. She drove him off, [N O V E L I G H T] but when I vanished, she went looking? It was the height of contradiction. What secret scheme did Christine have? Next time Harry came by, I’d pull more from him—but I pushed thoughts of Teddy aside.The weather refused to clear; even when the rain paused, the sun never appeared. Under leaden skies, Harry always looked irritatingly cocky whenever he showed up late afternoon, chatting away as the shop emptied. Sometimes I thought he simply needed a friend to talk to—yet at other times, like today, he’d drop Christine’s name almost casually.“Christine’s a private person.”On a chilly rainy day, Harry insisted on the terrace. I smoked as I stared at my steaming coffee. I’d always preferred coffee to tea.“She and I lived together long ago. I’m not telling you the details, but know it was a long time. We shared an apartment.”“Right.”“…”Harry gave me a look of mild disapproval before continuing. “She had plenty of sponsors—once a senator, before that a lawyer. Now some businessman—never met him. She used to tell me who they were; we’d crack pumpkin seeds together. But this so-called businessman never showed his face. Not a word about who he is.”I shot him a skeptical glance. I appreciated the insider details, but why was he so eager to share? His stories were too personal to dismiss as mere whim.“Did she ever tell you herself?”“We’re not that close.”“There’s something between you two, right?”“Maybe; maybe not.”“…I’m sore about it, though. Everyone keeps secrets from me.”“It’s probably things you don’t need to know.”Harry paused over his coffee, then added, “Christine said the same. Things people don’t need to know, so she doesn’t say them.”“Yeah—there are people best left unknown.”“You too?”I shrugged. Harry inspected my face, then cracked, “I thought you were as bad as Teddy. But now? You don’t seem so bad.”“How can anyone judge by looks? And Teddy’s not as bad as you think.”“Real bad guys never admit they’re bad.”“Maybe you haven’t met a truly bad guy.”I named the “bad guys” I’d known. “True bad guys know exactly what they are.”Harry said nothing. We sat in silence, smoking and drinking coffee. Finally, he stood without finishing his drink—and disappeared for days.One late evening, Harry returned—unmasked, no makeup, hoodie up—slumped into a corner with a glass of wine, scrolling on his phone. As we closed up, Allan tapped my shoulder while I washed dishes. Harry leapt up at once.“Done?” he grinned.“Been waiting on you.”“That’s it? Hurry up.”Used to his demands, I shrugged and finished. Then he dragged me out to the car. Pei yawned her goodbye as we drove to Christine’s place.“She’s not home—boring.”“You two live together?”“No. I just drop by sometimes.”He wordlessly got out, so I followed.Christine’s house was as ordinary as before. Harry built a fire in the hearth and uncorked wine. I’d sworn off alcohol after quitting drugs, so I had coffee. He accepted that without fuss. Over drinks, he made small talk before finally getting to the point.“Christine said she’s giving me this house—and her restaurant.”“Why?”“She told me to stop working strip clubs. Funny—she never complained before.”Rubbing his cropped hair, Harry sounded like any brooding young man of the city. I’d always thought him decent, so Christine’s gesture made sense. But Harry’s face darkened.“Something’s odd. Feels ominous. I’ve seen that vibe before—in the Moulin Rouge—slick patrons you never mess with. You can tell by their faces—they leave a bad sting.”“…”I felt his unease. Before I could speak, Harry said, “It started when that guy showed up.”“When was that?”“About three weeks ago.”Three weeks ago—right after Christine threw me out for begging about the Club and the top-floor boys. I swallowed.“Who was he?”“I don’t know—never seen him before. She wouldn’t let him in; I just caught them through the window.”Harry frowned in concentration. Christine had booted him out before he could see clearly, but he’d heard enough.“They talked about some code—XOXO or something. The guy claimed he’d almost traced where XOXO is made. But he said he needed more time, that they needed a lure… bait.”“Bait?”Harry stopped and stared at me, and I sensed he was hiding something. I inhaled my cigarette deeply. That mystery man—and that bait—felt crucial.Harry didn’t pause long. Instead of continuing, he suddenly asked, “Are you really in love with her?”“I told you, no.”“You, her, and Teddy in some love triangle?”“You wish.”“Yes.”His unexpected answer left me speechless as he added, “I wish it were true.”“…”“Because… if it’s not, I think she’s using you as bait. So I’d rather you were in a triangle.”My heart thundered. I realized at last why Harry hovered around me and leaked Christine’s news—he refused to believe she’d put me in danger. But she had. Though still speculation, her calm around me in the restaurant made the theory plausible.I stared into Harry’s guilt-and-fear-filled eyes. I could have reassured him—told him Christine was still the trustworthy friend he thought. But I didn’t.“I owe Christine.”“Owe? What debt?”“Well… I’ll say this: I owe her, and this might be how I repay it.”I blurted it out. Harry eyed me suspiciously.“So you knew from the start—about the bait…?”“I didn’t. But I was waiting for any task she’d give.”Harry watched me, trying to gauge my truth. I didn’t shy away—like him, I wanted answers. I longed to drag Christine here and demand her motives.Silence stretched. Harry wasn’t drinking. He habitually rubbed his head, then fixed his gaze on the fire. I chain-smoked and sipped coffee, thoughts swirling. I nearly imagined Christine would scold me for the smoke. I felt trapped by my own anxiety.Nearly thirty minutes passed with no word. I finished my cup and poured another cold one. Harry, as if remembering something, lifted his wine. He stared blankly at the hearth flames, crackling softly. Then he spoke again—not to seek my answer, but simply to unburden himself.“Christine never had sponsors before. Most people find sponsors, but we—just the two of us—were enough.”“…”“Then she suddenly started mixing with upper-class men—expensive suits, whisky drinking. Weekend parties, never inviting me. Secrets piled up. Suspicious behavior, yet she acted like nothing was wrong. Of course I saw through it.”Harry’s voice, melancholy yet intoxicated, continued.“A few weeks ago, that man gave me a bad feeling. I felt it at the Moulin Rouge with some patrons—slick faces. They look good, but you never touch them. You see it on their faces—vengeance in their blood.”“…”He trailed off, and I finally had no words left.

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