The morning light filtered softly through Harper’s bedroom's tall windows, casting pale streaks across the luxurious bedding. Ivy stirred, her body cocooned in the plush bnkets. For a brief moment, she smiled, her cheeks coloring as the memory of st night crept back. Harper’s warmth, her arms wrapped tightly around her—it had felt so secure, so safe.

  But as Ivy’s eyes adjusted, she noticed the stillness of the room. The bed beside her was empty, its covers perfectly smooth as if Harper had never returned. The air was cool, and the faint hum of the city far below was the only sound. Ivy frowned, rubbing her arms as she sat up, the faint ache of loneliness creeping in.

  She wandered barefoot through the apartment, her steps tentative. The high-rise had an undeniable chill, modern aesthetic, all sleek surfaces and sharp lines. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel lived in. It felt like Harper: controlled, polished, and untouchable. The sprawling space only emphasized Ivy’s solitude.

  “Harper?” she called softly, her voice echoing slightly. No response.

  Her gaze fell on a small pile at the foot of the bed: her freshly washed and neatly folded clothes, stacked with care. Next to them was a bag with the things Harper had brought for her from her cottage. Ivy’s heart tugged, confused by the contradictions. Harper’s gestures seemed thoughtful, but was that just how she treated everyone? Was Ivy just a guest Harper felt obligated to help—a fleeting act of pity?

  Ivy sighed. She stepped into the bathroom for a shower. The warm water was soothing, but her thoughts churned as she washed, trying to piece together Harper’s intentions. Was st night genuine, or had she misread everything?

  Dressed again in her jeans, a puff-sleeved blouse, and her white cardigan, she padded back into the living room. The soft texture of the carpet under her feet was comforting, but the growing silence in the apartment wasn’t. A wave of dizziness overtook her as she perched on the edge of the couch. She gripped the armrest, her breath shallow. Anxiety pressed down like an invisible weight.

  She didn’t want to be alone.

  Her hand trembled as she picked up her phone, and the urge to call Harper was swelling in her chest. But before she could dial, the screen lit up with a call from Maze. Ivy answered, barely able to say hello before Maze’s panicked voice filled her ear.

  “Ivy! Omg, Are you ok? Your house—oh my God, Ivy, what happened st night?”

  “What?” Ivy’s voice cracked. Her heart dropped as Maze rattled on, frantic.

  “It’s all over social media,” Maze continued. “Your cottage—it burned to the ground st night. People are saying... Ivy, sorry, are you ok? Did you leave something on the stove?”

  Ivy stared at her phone, disbelieving. With shaking hands, she opened her social media feeds. Her heart sank as she saw videos and photos of her beloved home reduced to smoldering ashes.

  Comments flooded every post.

  "CottageDriedLavender? More like can’t-take-care-of-your-own-house fire." "This is what happens when people like her try to live the aesthetic but don’t know the work it takes." "She’s just a renter—what do you expect?"

  Her vision blurred as tears welled up. The vitriol cut deep, more than she could bear. It wasn’t just her home. It was her sanctuary, her identity, her art.

  “I can’t... I can’t do this,” Ivy whispered, her voice breaking.

  “Where are you?” Maze’s voice softened, the panic giving way to concern. “I’m coming to get you.”

  Ivy managed to text Maze her location, her fingers fumbling as tears streamed down her face. She grabbed her bag and hurried out of the apartment, needing to escape its hollow silence.

  Downstairs, the doorman nodded politely, but Ivy barely noticed. The morning air outside was crisp, a faint breeze carrying the distant hum of traffic. She stood by the curb, clutching her cardigan tightly around herself as if it could shield her from the world’s cruel gaze.

  ***

  The squeal of tires against the asphalt announced Maze’s arrival as her beat-up hatchback skidded into the parking lot. The door flung open, and out bounded Maze, a whirlwind of chaotic energy in her ripped bck jeans and spiked boots. Her oversized bck-and-purple striped sweater hung off one shoulder, revealing a cy bck bra strap underneath. Her messy wolf cut framed her sharp features, and her square-rimmed bck gsses added a touch of edgy intelligence to her look.

  “Ivy!” Maze cried out, her boots clomping against the pavement as she ran toward her friend. She hugged Ivy fiercely, her face burying into Ivy’s hair. “Thank the gods, you’re okay,” Maze murmured, her voice trembling with relief.

  Ivy didn’t have time to respond before Maze dragged her to the car. “Come on, you’re not standing out here like some sad movie character. Let’s go.”

  Maze bundled Ivy into the passenger seat, buckling her in like a frazzled parent. As soon as they pulled away, Maze’s chatter filled the car, her words fast and relentless.

  “You’re staying with me, no arguments,” she decred. “Spare room’s all yours. Hell, take it forever if you want. I’ll even clean it up for you, and you know I don’t do that for just anyone.”

  Ivy couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Thanks, Maze.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Maze teased. “Wait till you see the mess I call home. You might regret it.”

  Maze’s apartment was exactly as Ivy remebered it to be: chaotic, colorful, and unmistakably Maze. Nestled on the 25th floor of a trendy building in the hip part of town, it was compact but alive with personality. RGB lighting bathed the walls in shifting hues of purple and blue. Plush carpeting made every step a soft bounce, and the living room's centerpiece was a gaming setup that looked straight out of a tech ad—dual monitors, a mechanical keyboard that clicked loudly, and a custom-built PC with neon fans whirring inside.

  The furniture was equally quirky. A bright red foot-shaped loveseat sat directly in front of a massive TV hooked up to every console imaginable. A rack of tangled cables and controllers stood nearby, and posters of retro games and bands adorned the walls in organized chaos.

  Maze flopped onto the loveseat, patting the cushion beside her. “Alright, sit down, spill it. What the hell happened?”

  Ivy hesitated before sitting, her hands csped tightly in her p. “I... don’t even know where to start.”

  “How about with why you didn’t call me immediately?” Maze huffed, crossing her arms. “Do you know how much faster I’d have gotten there if you had?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you—” Ivy began.

  “Bother me? Ivy, come on!” Maze interrupted, throwing her hands up. “You’re my best friend. You could call me at 3 a.m. to tell me you stubbed your toe, and I’d still come running. Now—clothes, food, your art stuff—what’s the pn? You can’t just wing it.”

  “I... I don’t know,” Ivy admitted, her voice small. “Everything feels so... big. Like I can’t even think straight.”

  Maze softened, her edgy demeanor cracking to reveal the warm heart beneath. “Alright, one step at a time,” she said, nudging Ivy’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out together. But first, let’s eat. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

  “Are you cooking?” Ivy asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Maze grinned wickedly. “Ha! No, we’re ordering pizza. I’m a terrible cook. You know that.”

  Ivy giggled, and for the first time that day, she felt a little lighter. Maze might be chaotic, but she was also precisely what Ivy needed right now.