Shower

The whistle died a sudden death, replaced by a chilling silence that seemed to crackle like a dying campfire. Greg's blood froze in his veins. The door opened and out came Samuel. Of all the people, Greg thought would be in that shower, Samuel wasn't one of them. He stood rooted to the spot, a fly trapped in amber, as the bathroom door creaked open.

He was dripping wet with a towel precariously draped around his waist. His hair clung to his forehead, his eyes, wide with surprise, flickered to Greg before settling on Miley.

The air thrummed with unspoken accusations. Greg's mind reeled, his carefully constructed reality dissolving like cheap sandcastles under a tidal wave. It was Samuel, his best friend, the voice of caution, the one who'd questioned Evergreen, who was in his fiancé's apartment, in her bed.

Before Greg could even articulate the torrent of questions roaring within him, his body, fueled by a primal cocktail of shock and betrayal, made the decision for him. He turned and