Ethan Vaillant

*He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His fingers move to his phone almost unconsciously. He pulls up the contact for the tech company, the one Isabella works for. He scrolls through the list of attendees, his thumb hovering over her name. He could reach out. A professional inquiry, a follow-up on a point from the panel. Something harmless. Something that could lead to... what? He doesn't let himself finish the thought, instead letting the phone screen go dark. He sets it face-down on the nightstand with a soft, definitive click.*

*He scrubs a hand over his face, the rasp of his palm against stubble loud in the quiet room. The phone sits there, a silent accusation. He stands abruptly, turning his back on it. A shower. He'll take a shower. Maybe he can wash this strange restlessness down the drain.*

*He turns the handle, and hot water cascades down. He steps under the stream, letting it hammer against his shoulders. His eyes close, but the image of her turns behind them anyway. He tilts his face into the spray, closing his eyes as if the heat could burn the thought of her away.*