Chapter 74: Stirring Concerns Melissa POV

I stood in my kitchen, flipping the burner on with a twist of the knob, the gas hissing as it caught flame. I grabbed a mixing bowl from the cabinet, the ceramic clinking as I set it on the counter, then cracked two eggs into it, the shells snapping under my fingers. I whisked them with a fork, the tines scraping the bowl, my mind buzzing from last night—Jake’s spiral, that photo, his new fire about Victor.

The doorbell buzzed, sharp and quick, cutting through the quiet. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, tossing it over my shoulder as I shuffled to the door, my slippers scuffing the hardwood. I peeked through the peephole—Jake, his hood up, hands stuffed in his pockets. I swung the door open, stepping aside with a wave. "Morning," I said, adjusting my glasses with a nudge.

"Morning, Mel," he replied, kicking off his boots by the mat, the soles thudding as he dropped his bag onto the floor. "Smells good."

"Pancakes," I said, heading back to the kitchen, grabbing the flour from the pantry, measuring it out with a scoop, dumping it into the bowl. "Figured you could use some fuel after last night."

He followed, leaning against the counter, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, tossing it between his hands. "Yeah, thanks for that—pulling me back," he said, his voice low, taking a bite, the crunch loud in the small space.

I nodded, pouring milk into the batter, stirring it with a wooden spoon, the mixture thickening. "You scared me, Jake—knife in hand, whiskey everywhere."

He set the apple down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, his fingers tapping the counter. "I’m done with that—Sophia’s out, I’m moving on."

"Good," I said, flipping a pancake onto the griddle, the sizzle filling the air as I pressed it down with a spatula. "That Victor stuff you found—crazy, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, grabbing a mug from the rack, pouring coffee from the pot, the steam curling up. "1998 death—Victor’s name tied to it. I’m digging deeper today."

I flipped another pancake, the golden edge crisping, sliding it onto a plate with a flick of my wrist. "Just be smart about it—he’s not someone to mess with lightly," I warned, handing him the plate, grabbing a fork from the drawer, tossing it to him.

He caught it, spearing a bite, chewing slowly. "I’ll be careful, Mel—got a lead on an old security guy, Tom. Might know something."

I grabbed my own plate, piling two pancakes on it, drizzling syrup from a bottle, the sticky stream pooling. "Tom? That’s a start—keep me posted," I said, sitting at the table, cutting into my stack with a scrape of my fork.

"Will do," he said, sipping his coffee, setting it down with a clink, his eyes flicking to his bag. "Got my laptop—gonna hit the library after this, cross-check some archives."

I nodded, swallowing a bite, wiping my mouth with a napkin, tossing it onto the table. "Smart move—old papers might have more. You’re really shifting gears, huh?"

"Yeah," he replied, grabbing another bite, his fork tapping the plate. "Sophia’s made her choice—I’m not sitting around anymore."

I leaned back, grabbing my soda from the counter, popping the tab with a hiss, sipping the fizz. "Good for you—she’s tangled up with Ethan now, and I’m worried she’s losing herself."

He frowned, setting his fork down, his hands folding on the table. "Tangled how? She’s still at his place?"

"Think so," I said, standing, pacing to the sink, rinsing my plate with a splash of water. "She’s guilt-tripping herself—thinks she owes him after Argus."

He grabbed his mug, draining the last of the coffee, slamming it down harder than needed. "She doesn’t owe him squat—Victor’s the one who screwed him."

"I know," I replied, drying my hands on the towel, tossing it onto the counter with a soft plop. "But she’s stubborn—won’t listen."

He stood, pacing to the window, pushing the blinds aside with his fingers, peering out at a sparrow hopping on the ledge. "She’s picking him over everything—me, her fight, all of it."

I grabbed my phone from the table, scrolling to Sophia’s number with a swipe, my thumb hovering over the call button. "I’m calling her—someone’s gotta snap her out of it," I said, hitting dial, pacing to the fridge as it rang, my slippers shuffling.

"Mel?" Sophia answered, her voice muffled, a faint clatter like she was moving dishes.

"Hey, Soph," I said, opening the fridge, grabbing a water bottle, twisting the cap off with a crack. "Where you at?"

"Ethan’s," she replied, a rustle like she was folding something. "Just helping out—why?"

I paced back to the table, setting the bottle down with a thud, my voice firm. "You’re losing yourself, Soph. Ethan’s not your burden."

A pause, then a sigh. "I’m not losing anything—I’m just here for him," she shot back, her tone sharp, a clink like she’d dropped a spoon.

"You’re there too much," I insisted, kicking the leg of a chair, my hand gripping the phone tighter. "Jake’s a wreck, and you’re—"

"Jake’s fine—he doesn’t need me babysitting him," she cut in, her voice rising. "I’ll call you later."

"Wait—" I started, but she hung up, the line going dead with a beep. I tossed the phone onto the table, my fingers raking through my hair, tugging at the ends. "Stubborn as hell," I muttered, grabbing my water, sipping it fast, the cold hitting my throat.

Jake turned from the window, grabbing his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a tug. "She’s digging her own hole," he said, his voice flat, adjusting his hood.

"Yeah," I replied, pacing to the sink, rinsing his plate with a splash, my mind spinning—Sophia sinking deeper, Jake pulling away. "She’s blind to it."

He grabbed his keys from the counter, jangling them in his hand, heading for the door. "I’m out—library’s calling," he said, pulling his boots on with quick yanks.

"Be safe," I called, drying my hands, tossing the towel aside as he opened the door, stepping out with a thud of his boots.

I walked back to the table, picking up my phone again, scrolling through old texts from Sophia, my thumb pausing on a photo of us laughing at the diner. "What’re you doing, Soph?" I whispered, setting it down with a soft tap, my worry gnawing deeper.

Jake’s voice drifted back from the hall, low and muttered—Gonna confront Ethan, see what he knows. I froze, my hand gripping the water bottle, alarm spiking as I spun toward the door, too late to stop him.