Episode 4

I walked onto the bus before he could see.

For three days, I pretended that was the end of it.

It was easier than admitting Austin Coleman had found the exact sentence most likely to live under my skin.

Then give me longer than a month.

I buried it under shifts, assignments, and the kind of practical exhaustion that made feelings look irresponsible. By late October, the leaves along the campus sidewalks had turned copper and slick, my scholarship portal finally stopped saying processing, and my rent spreadsheet had been downgraded from catastrophe to unpleasant.

The diner helped.

It was not glamorous, but it was honest. People ordered coffee, I brought coffee. People left crumbs, I wiped crumbs. At the end of the night, Lily Walsh counted tips with me near the register while Peter Bell pretended not to steal fries from the pickup window.

"You are stealing company property," Lily told him.

Peter held up one fry. "This is quality control."

"That fry has never felt controlled."

I laughed, and for once it did not feel borrowed.

Maggie came in near nine, sliding into a back booth with her laptop and a stack of flash cards. She claimed she was studying. Mostly, she was keeping me company between tables and sending Creed dramatic photos of her pretending to suffer.

The two men came in twenty minutes before close.

They were not students. Too old, too loud, wearing expensive watches and the kind of confidence that treated service workers like furniture. They chose the booth beside Maggie even though half the diner was empty.

"Evening," I said, setting menus down. "Kitchen closes in fifteen, but I can still get an order in."

The taller one glanced at my name tag, then at my face. "Ava. Pretty name."

"Thanks. Drinks?"

"What do you recommend?"

"Coffee if you are driving."

His friend laughed too hard. "She has jokes."

I kept my customer-service smile in place. "Coffee, then?"

They ordered burgers, fries, and two coffees they clearly did not want. When I turned away, the shorter one leaned toward Maggie.

"You here alone?"

Maggie's head came up slowly. "No."

"Boyfriend around?"

"Yes."

"That a warning?"

I set the coffeepot down at the service station and took out my phone behind the register partition. Not obvious. Not dramatic. Just enough to start recording audio and catch the corner of their booth on video.

Lily saw my hand and her expression changed. She moved toward the manager's office.

Good.

The taller man watched me return with their food. "You always this serious, Ava?"

"Only at work."

"What time do you get off work?"

Maggie closed her laptop. "Back off."

He turned toward her, smiling. "I was talking to the waitress."

"And the waitress is working."

"Then maybe she wants a tip."

The way he said it made the table behind him go quiet.

Heat crawled up my neck, but my voice stayed even. "If you speak to me or another customer that way again, my manager will ask you to leave."

The shorter one snorted. "Your manager?"

Peter appeared at the pickup window, all humor gone. Lily came out of the office with Mark, the shift manager, right behind her.

Mark was not large, but he had the tired calm of a man who had dealt with worse people for less money. "Gentlemen, we have cameras, witnesses, and a staff member reporting harassment. You need to pay for what you ordered and leave."

The taller one laughed, but his eyes flicked toward the security camera near the register.

"We were joking."

"No," Mark said. "You were warned. Now you are leaving."

The bell above the diner door rang.

Every head turned.

Austin Coleman walked in with Gary Flynn and Seth Rowan behind him, all three in Lions hoodies, like the universe had decided subtlety was overrated.

For one second, no one moved.

Austin's eyes found mine first.

Not Maggie. Not the men. Me.

I hated that my chest loosened.

His gaze dropped to my phone, still recording in my hand, then moved to Mark. "Problem?"

Mark answered before anyone else could. "Being handled."

Austin nodded once. "Good."

That one word changed the room anyway.

The taller man looked from Austin to Gary, then to Seth, measuring odds he did not like. "We were just leaving."

"After you pay," Mark said.

They paid. Badly. Mark printed the receipt, wrote the incident time on the back, and told Lily to save the camera clip. I stopped recording only after the men stepped outside.

Austin followed them to the door.

"Coleman," I said.

He paused.

I did not know why I said it. Maybe because I heard my own fear in the sharpness. Maybe because I did not want another man deciding my night without me.

Austin looked back at Mark. "Can I stand outside?"

Mark considered him. "Public sidewalk."

"Then I will stand on the public sidewalk."

Gary muttered, "Legal and terrifying. Nice."

Through the window, I saw Austin speak to the men. He did not touch them. He did not raise his voice. Whatever he said made the taller one go pale around the mouth.

When Austin came back in, he stayed by the door.

Mark handed me the incident form. "Write what happened while it is fresh. Lily, add your statement. Maggie, if you are willing, yours too."

"Absolutely," Maggie said, furious now that the danger had passed.

My hands shook only a little as I wrote. Austin saw. He looked away like he was giving me privacy from my own fear.

That was new.

By the time we closed, campus safety had the report, Mark had a ban notice ready for both men, and Maggie had texted Creed seven paragraphs of rage.

"I can walk you back," Maggie said.

"Creed is already waiting for you."

"Creed can wait."

Austin, who had been sitting alone near the front window for forty minutes with a paper cup of coffee he had not touched, stood. "I can walk her."

I looked at him.

He added, "If she wants."

Maggie turned to me, eyebrows raised.

I wanted to say no on principle.

But principle did not change the fact that the sidewalk was dark, the men knew my name, and Austin had asked instead of assumed.

"Fine," I said. "To the dorm. Not inside."

His mouth almost smiled. "To the dorm. Not inside."

We walked under the wet trees without touching.

For half the block, he said nothing. That made me notice him more, not less. His stride shortened to match mine. He kept himself street-side without making a show of it. When a car passed too close to a puddle, he shifted just enough that the splash hit his jeans instead of my shoes.

"You do that on purpose?" I asked.

"Walk?"

"Take the puddle."

"Yes."

"That is weird."

"Probably."

I pressed my lips together so I would not smile.

At the dorm entrance, I stopped under the awning. "You did not need to wait all night."

"I know."

"And I had it handled."

"I saw."

The answer disarmed me more than an argument would have.