Archive of Our Own

The sun is only just beginning to climb over the horizon.

It leaks weakly through the thin blinds of Spencer’s apartment window, painting pale stripes across the floor and the small stack of boxes she has lined up in the hallway just outside the door. The light is soft and unfinished, like the day itself has not fully committed to existing yet.

Spencer stands at her apartment door for a moment, staring at the boxes.

Four.

Not five. Not ten. Four.

It is still strange to look at the entirety of her life and see it reduced to something that could be carried down a flight of stairs in two trips.

She crouches down and presses another strip of tape across the top of the last one. The cardboard bends slightly under the pressure of her hands. She smooths it out automatically, flattening the edges with precise fingers before reaching for the marker beside her knee.

Kitchen supplies.

She prints the words neatly, each letter careful and deliberate. Her handwriting still looks like it belongs in an academic journal rather than on a cardboard moving box.

For a moment she just looks at it.

There is a strange, hollow lightness in her chest that she still has not figured out how to categorize. Freedom, apparently, is not the clean emotional release people imagine. It does not arrive like a door thrown open or chains snapping loose.

It arrives like this.

Quiet. Ambiguous. Slightly terrifying.

Since she is no longer a convicted criminal, she is no longer eligible to live in the state provided apartment. The letter had been very clear about that.

Her parole officer had smiled when she handed Spencer the paperwork terminating supervision. Congratulations. You’re free.

Free also means the state no longer owes her housing.

And it does not owe her compensation either. The legal argument had been efficient, almost elegant in its cruelty. Her confession had made her ineligible for false imprisonment payments.

You admitted guilt. Therefore the consequences were yours.

The only tangible difference in Spencer’s life now is that her full paycheck lands in her account each week. Half of it no longer disappears into the Victim Support Fund.

It feels strange to keep all of it.

Stranger still to realize it is not very much.

Spencer lifts the box and adjusts its position in the hallway, stacking it neatly beside the others.

Four boxes. One new apartment. No safety net.

A life that feels both wider and far less certain than anything she has known before.

“You color code those boxes too, Hastings?”

Spencer jerks upright so quickly she nearly knocks the top box over.

Her head snaps toward the stairway.

Ruby is standing there.

She is leaning casually against the wall like she has always belonged in the space, one shoulder propped against the plaster, arms crossed loosely across her chest. There is a familiar smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

The sight of her lands in Spencer’s chest with a strange combination of relief and exasperation.

“How did you get in?” Spencer asks sharply.

She definitely did not give Ruby the door code to the apartment building.

Ruby pushes herself off the wall and strolls closer, her boots quiet against the floor.

“Security here is really bad,” she says easily. “The door was propped wide open.”

Spencer closes her eyes briefly and exhales through her nose. “Of course it was.”

Ruby crouches beside the stack of boxes and examines them like an artifact. Her dark hair is buzzed tight along the sides, the longer curls on top pushed back carelessly. Tattoos slip out from beneath the sleeves of her loose grey tee as she braces one elbow on her knee.

“You’d be safer in prison,” Ruby says conversationally. “Although… Does Brick still want you dead?”

A short laugh escapes her.

Spencer scoffs. “Who didn’t Brick want dead?”

“Fair.”

Ruby tilts her head, reading the label on the nearest box.

Kitchen supplies.

She taps the cardboard lightly with her knuckle.

“Seriously, Hastings,” she says, looking up at her with open amusement. “You have what, three boxes and you felt the need to label them?”

“Four,” Spencer replies automatically.

The correction comes out with the faintest trace of pride. It is ridiculous and she knows it, but the small laugh in her voice betrays her.

Ruby grins. “I stand corrected.”

She is about to say something else when voices spill into the hallway before the group even fully enters the hallway from the stairwell.

Hanna’s is the loudest.

“Spence, please tell me you actually packed more than one sweater because I refuse to watch you move into a new place and immediately look like a depressed minimalist.”

Spencer turns toward the door just as Hanna appears in the frame, Caleb behind her carrying two coffees, Emily close at his shoulder and Aria just slightly behind the group.

For a second Spencer forgets how to breathe.

Seeing them all here at once still feels surreal.

The collision of two different lives.

Hanna stops mid sentence when she notices Ruby.

Emily does too.

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

And Aria…

Spencer watches the shift happen across Aria’s face almost in slow motion.

First surprise.

Then confusion.

Then something else. Something tighter.

Something Spencer cannot immediately name.

It curls low in her stomach anyway.

“Spencer,” Emily says, her smile widening as she steps forward before her gaze flicks toward Ruby. “Hi.”

“Um,” Spencer says awkwardly. The word feels inadequate for the strange tension filling the hallway. She gestures vaguely. “This is Ruby.”

Ruby gives a small nod from her crouched position beside the boxes.

Spencer turns to the others.

“Ruby, this is…”

Ruby cuts her off.

She straightens slightly and begins pointing. “Caleb, Hanna, Emily, and Aria, right?” Her finger moves between them with easy certainty.

Hanna’s eyes widen. “Wow,” she says, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “Did you look us up or something?”

Ruby laughs and shakes her head. “Nah,” she says. “Hastings here couldn’t shut up about you guys in prison, so…”

She trails off, shrugging one shoulder like it should be obvious.

Emily’s expression softens instantly. Something warm and almost relieved settles across her face.

Aria’s reaction is the opposite.

Her smile tightens. Small. Controlled.

“Well,” Emily says warmly, stepping forward and offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ruby takes it without hesitation, her grip firm. “Yeah. You too.”

Caleb nods in greeting. “Nice to finally put a face to the prison roommate.”

Hanna follows with an enthusiastic wave. “Any friend of Spencer’s is automatically someone I need to interrogate later.”

Ruby snorts softly. “Looking forward to it.”

Aria doesn’t move forward.

She just gives a small, polite nod. “Hi.”

Spencer notices the distance immediately.

She doesn’t understand it yet.

“Well,” Caleb says, clapping his hands once. “I know I’m basically just here for my muscles, so point me at it.”

Spencer gestures toward the small stack of boxes sitting beside the door.

Caleb follows her hand.

He blinks.

“That’s it?”

Aria tilts her head slightly.

“That’s it?” she echoes, though her voice carries something different.

Something almost sad.

Spencer nods.

“Yes.” She folds her arms lightly across her chest, suddenly aware of the starkness of it all.

Four boxes.

A life reduced to something that looks embarrassingly small next to the lives of the others.

“But,” she adds quickly, “I have Ikea furniture being delivered to the new place.”

Hanna groans instantly. “Oh no.”

Spencer ignores her. “So we’ll need to build some things once we get there.”

Caleb exhales slowly like a man preparing for battle. “Alright,” he says. “Now that sounds more like a proper moving day.”

He bends down and grips one of the boxes with an easy familiarity, straightening with it balanced against his hip like he has done this a hundred times before. Emily follows without hesitation, lifting another one with both hands, careful but steady.

Ruby crouches beside the third box and lifts it like it weighs nothing.

Hanna’s mouth falls open for a full second.

Spencer sees it happen and has to bite back a laugh.

Hanna’s eyes flick from Ruby’s arms to the box, then back again before she abruptly turns toward Spencer like she has decided the observation is better left unexamined.

“I’m not here for manual labor,” Hanna says quickly. “Just moral support.”

Spencer lets out a quiet laugh. “Of course you are.”

Hanna lifts her chin proudly. “Someone has to supervise.”

Aria rolls her eyes, but she bends down anyway and picks up the last box. It is the one Spencer labeled kitchen supplies, the lettering still bold and neat across the cardboard.

Aria’s fingers run briefly over the label before she lifts it.

For a second Spencer wonders if she is imagining the slight tension in Aria’s shoulders.

Probably.

Maybe.

“I’m just going to,” Spencer says, gesturing vaguely back toward the apartment, “look around and make sure I have everything.”

Caleb nods toward the door. “We’ll take these down.”

Emily smiles at her. “Take your time.”

They start filing out of the apartment, the small hallway suddenly full of movement and footsteps and shifting boxes.

Aria lingers for a moment near the door. “You want company?” she asks gently.

The offer lands somewhere warm in Spencer’s chest.

But she shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”

She needs to do this alone.

Aria studies her face for a second longer, then nods. “Okay.”

Spencer turns back toward the apartment.

She takes two steps inside before she hears Ruby’s voice behind her.

“You’re the writer friend, right?” Ruby says casually. “The one she kept quoting at me?”

Spencer freezes.

Her hand tightens on the doorframe.

She did talk about Aria.

A lot.

Prison had a way of narrowing the world down to the things you could hold onto. Stories. Memories. The people who existed outside the walls.

Aria’s voice follows, slightly surprised. “She quoted me?”

Ruby laughs softly. “Oh yeah,” she says. “Gave me a whole lecture on metaphor during cell check one night.”

Spencer closes her eyes briefly.

She wants the floor to open up beneath her.

Instead she walks quickly the rest of the way into the apartment.

The door closes behind her with a quiet click.

And suddenly the space is silent again.

Spencer stops in the center of the room.

From here she can see almost the entire apartment.

The kitchen to the left. The narrow hallway to the bathroom. The small bedroom tucked into the corner.

It really is tiny.

She knew that the first time she walked in here with a plastic folder of paperwork clutched in her hands.

At the time it had felt temporary. Functional. Somewhere to land while she figured out what came next.

She had never expected it to become something else.

Her chest tightens slightly as she looks around.

It feels strange leaving.

Which is ridiculous.

This apartment had smelled faintly like mildew for the first six months she lived here. The neighbors down the hall shouted at each other through the walls at two in the morning. The roof outside the bathroom window leaked whenever it rained.

It had never been comfortable.

But it had been hers.

This was where she rebuilt her life.

Where the girls had started coming back.

Where she had spent nights at the kitchen table with case files spread around her, chasing the truth about A.

Where everything had slowly, painfully started to make sense again.

And now she is just… leaving.

Spencer walks slowly through the space.

The kitchen cabinets are empty. She had wiped the shelves clean yesterday evening, lining up the few dishes she owned into one of the boxes now sitting outside.

The small chest of drawers beside the bed is empty too. The top is bare except for a faint square of dust where her alarm clock used to sit.

She steps into the bathroom.

The light flickers once before settling into its usual dull glow.

Spencer opens the top drawer automatically.

Toothbrush. Soap. A small bottle of shampoo.

All gone.

She closes it again.

Then, out of habit more than necessity, she pulls open the second drawer.

Empty.

She pulls open the bottom one.

Something shifts inside.

Spencer frowns.

She reaches down and pushes a small plastic bag aside to see it more clearly.

Then she stops.

The world narrows sharply around the object in her hand.

It is a small bag.

Clear plastic.

White powder packed tightly inside.

Heroin.

The recognition hits instantly.

Spencer’s breath catches.

 A.

Ezra.

The thought surfaces immediately, cold and precise.

He must have slipped it in here sometime before everything came apart. Before he was exposed as A. Before Spencer realized just how much he had manipulated every part of their lives.

And somehow she had lived in this apartment all this time without ever opening this drawer.

Without ever finding it.

Her fingers tighten around the plastic.

Instinct takes over.

She turns toward the toilet, already moving.

Flush it.

Destroy it.

Erase the last trace of his influence from this place.

Her hand lifts the lid.

She pauses.

Her heart is beating faster now, the sound loud in her ears.

She cannot quite explain the hesitation.

Maybe it is the years she spent learning to treat everything like evidence.

Maybe it is the quiet voice in the back of her mind that still thinks in strategy and contingencies.

Maybe it is something darker.

Something restless.

Spencer stares down at the toilet bowl.

Then she lowers the lid again.

The decision happens quickly after that.

She folds the small bag in her hand and slides it into the inside pocket of her jacket.

The weight of it feels disproportionate to its size.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

She does not give herself time to analyze why she did it.

Instead she turns off the bathroom light and walks back through the apartment.

At the doorway she stops one last time.

The room looks different now.

Empty.

Quiet.

Finished.

Spencer rests her hand briefly against the wall.

Then she straightens, opens the door, and steps out into the hallway.

Spencer grips the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary as she pulls out of the narrow parking lot in front of the halfway house.

The morning light is brighter now. The pale softness of dawn has burned off, replaced with the sharper gold of late morning sun reflecting off windshields and apartment windows. The road ahead of her stretches open and unfamiliar in a way that makes something in her chest feel both lighter and slightly untethered.

Her new apartment waits somewhere across town.

Not state housing.

Not temporary.

Just… hers.

The thought sits strangely in her mind. Freedom still feels theoretical. Like a concept she understands intellectually but has not fully absorbed.

In the passenger seat, Hanna adjusts her sunglasses and settles back with a satisfied sigh.

“Shotgun privileges,” she says smugly.

Spencer glances at her briefly.

“You called it before I even unlocked the car.”

“Exactly,” Hanna replies. “Strategy.”

Spencer exhales a small laugh through her nose.

In the rearview mirror she sees Caleb’s car pull out behind them. Aria sits in the front passenger seat beside him, Emily visible in the back.

For a moment Spencer’s eyes linger on the image.

Aria has one elbow propped against the window, her hair catching the sunlight in soft copper strands. She is talking to Emily about something Spencer cannot hear.

Spencer looks away quickly.

She focuses on the road.

Behind her, Ruby shifts slightly in the backseat, stretching her legs out with the loose ease of someone who treats every environment like it belongs to her.

Hanna turns halfway around in her seat.

Actually halfway might be generous.

It looks more like she is attempting to escape the seatbelt entirely.

“So,” Hanna says, wiggling her eyebrows dramatically. “You two were cellmates?”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “That’s usually how prison roommates work, yeah.”

Hanna ignores the dry tone completely. “Anything extra?”

“Hanna!” The protest leaves Spencer’s mouth before she can stop it.

Her hands tighten on the wheel.

Hanna looks entirely unbothered.

“What?” she says with a laugh. “I’m just asking.”

Ruby chuckles softly from the backseat. “Yeah, Hastings,” she says. “She’s just asking.”

Spencer does not look in the mirror.

She can feel Ruby’s gaze anyway.

Then Ruby adds, casually, “But to answer your question, no there was nothing extra. Hastings here was already in love…”

“Ruby!”

Spencer nearly swerves.

Her voice comes out louder than she intended, sharp with panic.

The car drifts slightly toward the edge of the lane before she corrects it.

Behind her, Hanna makes a delighted noise.

“Ooooooh.”

Spencer closes her eyes briefly before reopening them.

Hanna twists fully in her seat now, abandoning any pretense of facing forward.

“Who was it?” she demands. “Toby? Some other lady prison friend?”

“God, not Toby,” Ruby says immediately.

There is an unexpected edge in her voice.

Spencer glances at the mirror just long enough to see Ruby leaning back against the seat with a faint grimace.

Hanna snorts.

“Yeah,” she says. “He did do an impression of Usain Bolt after Spencer’s confession. That was not exactly boyfriend of the year material.”

Ruby huffs a quiet laugh. “Coward.”

Spencer exhales slowly through her nose.

“It’s nothing,” she says firmly.

She keeps her eyes on the road.

The words come out carefully neutral, but she can feel the tension sitting under them like a pulled thread.

Hanna studies her for a moment.

Spencer can feel the weight of that gaze even without looking over.

Hanna has always been better at reading people than she pretends to be.

Finally Hanna sighs.

“Fine,” she says, lifting both hands in surrender. “If you say so.”

She settles back into her seat again, though she immediately twists halfway around again to face Ruby.

“Any prison stories?”

Ruby tilts her head slightly. “Depends,” she says. “You want funny or horrifying?”

“Funny,” Hanna says immediately.

“Good call,” Ruby replies.

Spencer already knows the tone Ruby is about to use. The dry storytelling voice she perfected during long evenings sitting cross legged on a metal bunk while the prison lights buzzed overhead.

Ruby rests one arm along the back of the seat.

“Alright,” she says. “Laundry duty.”

Hanna leans closer. “I’m listening.”

Ruby gestures vaguely with her hand as she begins. “So laundry duty sounds harmless, right? You picture a couple washing machines, maybe some folding tables.”

“Yeah,” Hanna says.

Ruby smiles faintly. “It’s not that.”

Spencer can already feel herself smiling despite herself.

Ruby shifts in the backseat, resting one arm along the top of the seat like she is settling into a familiar story.

“The laundry room isn’t some cute little laundromat,” she says. “It’s hot as hell, half the machines barely work, and everyone in there is either exhausted or looking for a fight.”

Hanna’s smile falters slightly. “Oh.”

Ruby shrugs. “Not constant fighting. But it’s… tense. People guard their stuff like it’s gold because sometimes it kind of is.”

Spencer nods once without thinking.

Clean clothes mattered in ways that were hard to explain to people who had never lived somewhere that stripped everything else away.

Ruby continues. “Hastings here got assigned to laundry about two months in.”

“That was not my fault,” Spencer mutters automatically.

“It absolutely was,” Ruby says. “You corrected a guard’s grammar.”

“He said less when he meant fewer.”

“Still.”

Hanna laughs loudly. “You did what?”

Ruby snorts. “Exactly.”

Spencer stares firmly at the road. “In my defense, he was wrong.”

“Sure,” Ruby says. “But now Hastings is in the laundry room with about two hundred uniforms moving through every day.”

Spencer remembers the heat first.

Industrial dryers blasting out waves of air that smelled like bleach and cheap detergent.

The noise of metal doors slamming shut.

The constant hum of machines that never quite drowned out the voices around them.

Ruby continues. “Anyway, laundry’s where people try to pull small stuff,” she says. “Nothing dramatic. Just… survival things.”

“Like stealing clothes?” Hanna asks.

“Sometimes,” Ruby says. “Or trying to sneak extra socks. Or trading for things they shouldn’t have.”

Hanna’s eyebrows lift. “Like what?”

Ruby tilts her head. “Food. Cigarettes. Favors.”

Spencer’s hands tighten slightly on the wheel.

Ruby notices but keeps talking.

“So one afternoon Hastings and I are folding uniforms and this girl from C block comes in carrying a bag that clearly isn’t laundry.”

Hanna leans closer. “What was in it?”

Ruby shrugs.“Instant ramen. Like fifteen packs.”

Hanna blinks.“Ramen?”

“In prison that’s basically currency,” Ruby says. “You can trade it for anything.”

Spencer remembers the moment clearly.

The girl had looked nervous. Too nervous.

Ruby continues. “She asks Hastings if she can ‘accidentally’ misplace the bag during inventory.”

Hanna laughs softly. “And Spencer said no?”

Ruby grins. “Hastings didn’t even look up. Just goes, ‘That would constitute falsifying state property records.’”

Hanna bursts out laughing. “That is the most Spencer answer I’ve ever heard.”

Spencer sighs. “I was trying to avoid getting written up.”

Ruby nods. “Fair. But the girl gets pissed. Starts saying everyone else helps her out.”

Spencer remembers the way the room had gone quiet around them.

The small shifts in posture. The way people always noticed when a conversation turned sharp.

“And Hastings,” Ruby continues, “just calmly keeps folding towels.”

“I was not calm.”

“You looked calm,” Ruby says.

Hanna wipes at her eyes. “So what happened?”

Ruby pauses a moment before answering.

“The girl storms off,” she says. “And about ten minutes later the dryer breaks.”

Spencer groans quietly.

Ruby laughs. “She stuffed the ramen in there.”

Hanna stares. “No.”

“Oh yeah,” Ruby says. “Plastic, noodles, seasoning packets. Whole thing melts.”

Spencer can still remember the smell.

Burnt plastic mixed with synthetic fabric.

The guard yelling from across the room.

The long hour spent cleaning melted noodles out of the machine.

“Hastings had to help scrape it out with a metal ruler,” Ruby says.

Hanna is shaking with laughter again. “Please tell me you told the guard what happened.”

Spencer shakes her head. “No.”

Ruby glances at her in the mirror. “She didn’t.”

“Why not?” Hanna asks.

Spencer shrugs slightly.

Because that would have made things worse.

Because in prison you learned quickly when to speak and when to stay quiet.

Because survival sometimes meant letting small things go.

Ruby finishes the story.

“So we’re standing there scraping dried ramen out of the dryer and Hastings just sighs and says…” Ruby lowers her voice slightly, mimicking Spencer’s calm tone. “‘This is exactly why systems exist.’”

Hanna laughs so loudly Spencer winces. “Oh my God.”

Ruby chuckles too. “And then she spent twenty minutes explaining to me how prison logistics could be optimized.”

“I was not explaining it to you.”

“You absolutely were.”

Spencer exhales slowly.

Despite herself, she feels the corner of her mouth lift.

The memory is strange now.

Still uncomfortable around the edges.

Still tied to a place she never wants to see again.

But sitting here in the car, with Hanna laughing and Ruby telling the story like it belongs in a different lifetime, it feels a little less heavy.

A little less sharp.

Hanna turns forward again, still grinning.

“Okay,” she says. “That’s officially the weirdest prison story I’ve ever heard.”

Ruby leans back comfortably in the seat. “Oh, that’s not even close.”

Spencer glances in the rearview mirror again.

Caleb’s car is still behind them.

Aria sits in the passenger seat, her head turned toward Emily as they talk quietly.

For a moment Spencer watches the way the sunlight catches in Aria’s hair.

Then she looks back at the road.

Spencer pulls the car up along the curb and shifts it into park.

For a moment she does not move.

The new apartment building rises in front of them, three stories of aging brick squeezed between a laundromat and a small convenience store with a flickering neon sign in the window. The paint on the window frames is chipped. A few tags of graffiti run along the side wall where the alley begins.

Still.

It is better.

Spencer studies the building with a careful, analytical eye, the same way she had the first time she came here for the inspection. She notices the cracked step near the entrance, the working intercom system mounted beside the door, the small security camera angled toward the street.

Not the best area of Philadelphia.

But it is still leagues above where the halfway house had been.

The graffiti here is mostly names and sloppy lettering instead of gang symbols. The street feels lived in rather than abandoned. A woman walks past pushing a stroller. A man locks up a bike outside the convenience store.

And most importantly, it is close to the workshop.

Her commute will go from forty minutes to twelve.

That alone had nearly made her sign the lease on the spot.

She had also tested the lobby door lock twice during the inspection.

The keypad still sits beside the glass entrance, scratched but functional.

Spencer exhales slowly.

“So,” she says.

Everyone in the car looks up.

She gestures toward the building.

“This is it.”

The words sound strangely official.

Hanna leans forward slightly in the passenger seat, squinting up at the brick exterior.

Ruby shifts in the backseat to get a better look through the windshield.

Spencer pushes open her door and steps out onto the sidewalk.

Caleb’s car pulls up behind them a moment later.

She waits as everyone piles out.

Hanna hops out of the passenger seat and stretches her arms over her head dramatically.

“Oh wow,” she says, studying the building.

Spencer immediately feels a small knot of self consciousness tighten in her chest.

It is not exactly impressive.

“This is it,” Spencer repeats, gesturing toward the building again. “I’m on level three.”

She glances down at her watch automatically.

“Ikea delivery should be here in about thirty minutes,” she adds. “So we should probably get the boxes upstairs.”

“On it,” Hanna says immediately. She snaps off a quick salute, then turns toward Caleb with a mischievous grin. “Get moving, babe.”

Caleb laughs and shakes his head. “As you wish.”

He walks back to his car and opens the trunk.

Emily climbs out of the backseat behind him, brushing her hair back from her face as she looks up at the building.

“It’s nice,” she says warmly.

Spencer glances at her.

Emily’s smile is easy and genuine.

The small knot in Spencer’s chest loosens slightly.

Aria steps out of the passenger side more slowly.

She stands beside the car for a moment, looking up at the windows of the building with a thoughtful expression.

Spencer looks away before she can stare too long.

Ruby stretches her arms above her head as she climbs out of Spencer’s backseat.

“Well,” she says casually, scanning the street. “I’ve seen worse.”

Spencer snorts quietly. “That is not a compliment.”

“It’s realistic,” Ruby replies.

Caleb starts pulling the boxes from the back of his car.

“Don’t forget my bag,” Hanna calls after him.

Spencer frowns slightly. “Your bag?”

Hanna turns toward her with a bright smile. “I bought some paint and lights.”

Spencer blinks. “You what?”

Hanna gestures toward the building. “Otherwise your house will probably stay all spartan for months.”

Spencer opens her mouth. “Um…”

But Hanna cuts her off immediately. “You can’t stop me,” she says cheerfully. “So just trust me, Spence.”

Ruby laughs softly beside them. “She’s right, Hastings.”

Spencer glances at her.

Ruby nods toward the building.

“Leave it to you and you’ll just live with the landlord white your entire lease even though you can change it.”

Spencer sighs.

She bends down and picks up one of the boxes sitting near the curb.

“Nothing I can’t undo when I move out though,” she says.

Hanna nods approvingly. “Of course.”

Caleb shuts the trunk of his car and lifts two boxes at once.

“Alright,” he says. “Where are we going?”

Spencer gestures toward the entrance. “Lobby door.”

She walks ahead of them, box balanced against her hip.

The keypad beside the glass door looks exactly the same as it did during the inspection. Scratched numbers. Slightly worn plastic around the edges.

She sets the box down briefly and types in the code.

The lock clicks open with a satisfying sound.

Good.

It still works.

Spencer pushes the door open and holds it for the others. “After you.”

Everyone files in.

Emily steps inside first, glancing around the small lobby.

It is simple but clean. A row of mailboxes along one wall. A bulletin board with a few flyers pinned to it. A narrow hallway leading toward the elevator.

“Not bad,” Emily says.

Ruby walks in behind her, carrying a box in one hand like it weighs nothing.

Spencer shuts the door behind them.

The lock clicks again as it engages.

Another small point of satisfaction.

She picks up her box again and leads the group toward the elevator.

The metal doors slide open with a slow mechanical groan when she presses the button.

Everyone squeezes inside.

It is a tight fit with the boxes.

Caleb shifts slightly so Emily has room.

Aria steps in last, her shoulder briefly brushing Spencer’s arm as the doors begin to close.

The contact is light.

Accidental.

Spencer feels it anyway.

She keeps her eyes on the elevator panel and presses the button for the third floor.

The doors slide shut.

The elevator rattles slightly as it climbs.

Spencer stands near the control panel with a box balanced against her hip, listening to the low mechanical hum and the faint clatter of loose metal somewhere inside the walls. The space is tight with all six of them inside. Caleb shifts his weight to keep two boxes steady in his arms. Emily presses her shoulder lightly against the back wall to make room. Hanna leans against the railing with exaggerated patience.

Ruby stands close enough that Spencer can feel the warmth of her arm through her jacket sleeve.

And Aria.

Aria is standing just to Spencer’s left.

Close.

Close enough that Spencer is aware of the quiet rhythm of her breathing and the faint smell of her shampoo. Something warm and familiar that Spencer’s brain registers before she can stop it.

She keeps her gaze on the floor indicator lights.

One.

Two.

The elevator jolts slightly before settling again.

“Charming,” Ruby mutters.

Caleb chuckles. “It builds character.”

Hanna glances upward suspiciously. “If this thing drops three floors I am suing someone.”

Spencer exhales quietly through her nose. “It passed inspection.”

“That does not make me feel better,” Hanna says.

The elevator dings.

Three.

The doors slide open with a slow scrape of metal.

Spencer steps out first and immediately turns down the hallway. The corridor smells faintly like old varnish and someone’s cooking from another apartment. The floors creak slightly beneath their footsteps as everyone follows her.

She stops in front of a door halfway down the hall.

Apartment 3F.

For a moment she just stands there.

It is strange how something as simple as a door can feel like a threshold.

New apartment.

No parole officer.

No state paperwork.

No curfews.

Freedom still feels unfamiliar.

She unlocks the door.

“Okay,” she says, pushing it open. “Here we are.”

The apartment is small but bright.

Sunlight pours through two tall windows on the far wall, washing the old hardwood floors in warm light that makes the space feel bigger than it actually is. The wood is worn in places, scuffed from decades of footsteps, but it has character. Real character, not the sterile laminate of the state apartment she left behind.

And unlike the state supplied place, which had essentially been a studio with a bed shoved into a corner, this one actually has a separate bedroom tucked behind a narrow doorway.

Not big.

But defined.

A real one bedroom apartment.

Spencer steps inside slowly.

The space is empty except for the echo of their footsteps.

Unfurnished.

Which means the only furniture she owns is what she ordered from Ikea three days ago.

A queen mattress and bed frame.

A small dining table.

One singular bookshelf.

A bedside table.

That is it.

Everything else will have to come with time.

Caleb sets his boxes down near the wall and whistles softly. “Nice light.”

Emily walks toward the windows immediately, smiling as she looks out at the street below.

“This is really nice, Spence.”

Hanna steps into the middle of the living room and spins slowly in a circle. “Okay but we are definitely decorating.”

Spencer sighs.

Ruby drops her box beside the wall and glances around the room with quiet interest.

Spencer moves toward the small kitchen area just as the intercom buzzes sharply on the wall.

Everyone jumps slightly.

Hanna points dramatically. “That better be the furniture.”

Spencer crosses the room and presses the intercom button. “Hello?”

A man’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Ikea delivery.”

Relief floods through Spencer’s chest.

It works.

The intercom actually works.

“Great,” she says quickly. “I’ll buzz you in.”

She presses the door release and hears the faint click of the building entrance unlocking somewhere below.

Behind her Hanna claps once. “Furniture assembly time!”

Caleb cracks his knuckles. “Oh yeah.”

The sound echoes slightly in the still half empty apartment.

Spencer stands near the kitchen counter with her arms loosely folded, watching as everyone instinctively begins to claim a task. 

Caleb drags the largest flat box into the bedroom doorway and slices the tape open with his keys. Wooden slats and metal brackets spill out across the floor.

He squints down at the instructions.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Step one.”

Spencer watches him flip the page.

“Step two looks… aggressive.”

Hanna appears beside him carrying a paint tray and a roller, her blond hair twisted into a quick messy bun.

“You’re overthinking it,” she says. “Just commit.”

Caleb glances up at her. “That’s terrible advice for furniture assembly.”

Hanna shrugs. “Works for life.”

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh under her breath.

The sound surprises her.

Hanna moves toward the far wall of the living room and pops open the can of paint she brought. The faint smell spreads quickly through the apartment.

Spencer glances at the wall.

The yellow is soft. Not overwhelming.

Still.

“You are painting my apartment,” Spencer says, walking closer.

Hanna dips the roller into the tray and lifts it toward the wall. “It’s a feature wall.”

The roller glides across the old plaster, leaving behind a soft wash of pale yellow.

Spencer stares at it. “A feature wall.”

Hanna steps back to examine the color.  “Yes. Because otherwise you would live here for six months with blank white walls and call it minimalist.”

Spencer considers arguing.

Then she sighs. “That is a completely reasonable design philosophy.”

Hanna snorts. “No it’s not.”

In the kitchen alcove, Emily is already unpacking the box labeled kitchen supplies. She pulls out a stack of plates wrapped in newspaper and begins rinsing them in the sink before placing them carefully into the cabinet.

Aria stands beside her, unwrapping glasses.

Their shoulders bump occasionally as they work.

Emily says something quietly that Spencer cannot quite hear from across the room.

Aria replies in a low voice.

Spencer catches only fragments.

“…still strange…”

“…yeah…”

“…she seems…”

Spencer tries not to notice how often Aria glances toward the living room.

Across the living room floor, Ruby sits with her legs stretched out, surrounded by the disassembled pieces of the bookshelf.

She pulls the instruction booklet out and flips through it with visible skepticism.

“Hastings,” she calls.

Spencer walks over.

Ruby tilts the page toward her. “Why does this diagram look like instructions for assembling a medieval siege weapon?”

Spencer kneels beside her and studies the page. “It’s a bookshelf.”

Ruby points at the tangle of numbered parts. “That feels optimistic.”

Spencer reaches into the box and begins pulling out wooden panels. “We start with the side frames.”

Ruby slides one of the pieces toward her. “Bossy already.”

“You volunteered.”

Ruby grins slightly. “Fair.”

They settle onto the floor facing each other with the pieces spread out between them. Spencer threads a wooden dowel into one of the side panels while Ruby holds the frame steady.

Their knees bump lightly when they lean forward at the same time.

Neither of them moves away.

Spencer focuses on aligning the next panel.

“Hold this,” she says.

Ruby presses her palm against the board. “Yes, Warden Hastings.”

The screwdriver turns slowly in Spencer’s hand as she secures the first screw.

Across the room, Hanna is still painting, the yellow square of color slowly expanding across the wall.

“Okay,” Hanna announces. “This is already making the place happier.”

Caleb’s voice drifts out from the bedroom. “Define happier.”

“Less depressing bachelor cave.”

Spencer hears Emily laugh quietly from the kitchen.

She glances up briefly.

Emily is placing silverware into a drawer while Aria dries a glass with a dish towel.

Aria’s gaze drifts across the room.

It lands on Spencer and Ruby sitting on the floor with the bookshelf pieces between them.

Spencer notices the moment Aria realizes their knees are touching.

Something in Aria’s expression shifts.

It is subtle.

Her mouth tightens just slightly. Her eyes linger a moment longer than they should.

Then she looks down quickly and sets the glass into the cabinet.

Spencer looks back down at the shelf before she can think too much about it.

“Next panel,” she says quietly.

Ruby slides the piece toward her. “You run a tight construction crew, Hastings.”

Spencer feels a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “I will once Jeff promotes me.”

Ruby snorts softly. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

Spencer shrugs, reaching for another wooden dowel. “He has yet to recognize my superior leadership potential.”

Ruby twists a screw into the side of the bookshelf frame with growing frustration. “Well if this thing collapses I’m blaming your leadership.”

She pauses.

Then suddenly throws the screwdriver onto the floor with a sharp clatter.

“This screw will not go in.”

Spencer looks up.

Ruby is glaring down at the half assembled shelf like it has personally offended her.

Spencer leans forward, bracing one hand lightly on the floor as she angles herself over Ruby’s legs to inspect the problem.

For a moment their shoulders brush.

Spencer studies the spot where Ruby is trying to force the screw.

Then she reaches for the instruction manual.

“That’s because,” she says, fighting a laugh, “you aren’t meant to put a screw there.”

Ruby tilts her head back dramatically. “You’re kidding.”

Spencer flips the page and taps a small diagram. “That screw goes here.”

She reaches for a different board and points to the correct hole.

Ruby stares at the manual for a second.“Wow.”

Spencer smirks.“You skipped step four.”

Ruby presses a hand to her chest in mock offense. “I did not skip step four.”

“You absolutely did.”

Before Ruby can respond, a voice cuts across the room.

“Spence!”

Spencer looks up immediately.

Aria has moved out of the kitchen and is standing a few steps away. Emily is still near the counter behind her holding a stack of utensils, looking mildly frantic as she tries to get Aria’s attention.

Aria ignores her.

Her eyes are fixed on Spencer.

“Yes?” Spencer says carefully.

Aria hesitates for half a second before gesturing toward the front door. “Can we talk?”

Spencer glances briefly at Ruby.

Ruby lifts both hands in surrender. “I’ll guard the extremely complicated bookshelf.”

Spencer pushes herself up from the floor. “Don’t skip step five.”

Ruby salutes lazily.

Spencer follows Aria toward the front door. The hallway outside the apartment is quieter, the sounds of the others muffled once the door clicks shut behind them.

Aria turns to face her.

For a moment she doesn’t say anything.

Spencer watches her carefully.

“So,” Aria finally says. Spencer waits. “That’s the infamous Ruby?”

Spencer nods slowly. “Yes.”

Aria crosses her arms loosely. “You didn’t mention she would be helping.”

Spencer frowns slightly.

She had not realized that required advance notice.

“We were talking on the phone the other day,” she says. “She offered to help.” She shrugs. “Didn’t know that I needed to mention it.”

Aria shifts her weight. “I just thought it would be us four.”

Spencer tilts her head. “Caleb is here too.”

Aria waves that away immediately. “He doesn’t count.”

Spencer almost smiles.

Almost.

“Aria,” she says slowly. “What’s going on?”

Aria looks down the hallway briefly before meeting Spencer’s eyes again.

“Do you not like Ruby or something?” The question comes out sharper than Spencer intended.

She feels it immediately.

The defensive edge.

Protective.

Ruby had been one of the only steady things during the worst time of Spencer’s life.

But at the same time Spencer feels another instinct pulling the opposite direction.

Protect Aria.

Even from something as simple as a misunderstanding.

“No,” Aria says quickly. “I like her just fine.”

Spencer studies her.

She has known Aria Montgomery for too many years.

The slight hesitation.

The tightness around her mouth.

The way she avoids Spencer’s eyes for half a second too long.

“Seriously,” Spencer says, stepping a little closer. “What is your issue?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Liar.”

Aria exhales sharply. “Fine. Fine.” She throws her hands up in surrender. “Are you sure she doesn’t want something more from you?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“She’s all over you,” Aria continues, her voice climbing slightly. “The touching, the leaning, the whole…” She gestures vaguely with both hands. “…thing.”

Spencer stares at her. “We are friends.”

“You don’t see me falling over Emily like that.”

Spencer feels heat flash through her chest. “You and Emily weren’t in prison together!” The words come out louder than she intended. “It’s different.” 

Aria immediately fires back. “Yeah it’s different because she’s into you.”

“She’s not!”

Spencer hears her own voice echo slightly in the hallway.

She forces herself to exhale slowly.

Forces her shoulders to relax.

She takes a small step back from Aria.

“Seriously,” she says more quietly. “What’s going on?”

Aria presses her lips together.

For a moment Spencer thinks she is going to brush it off again.

But then Aria sighs.

“It’s just…” She hesitates.

“I’ve never seen you like that since before… before prison”

Spencer frowns slightly. “Like what?”

Aria continues, her voice softer now. “You’re relaxed with her.”

Spencer opens her mouth.

Closes it again.

Aria looks down briefly before continuing.

“You laugh differently,” she adds quietly.

Spencer feels something twist deep in her chest.

She had not realized Aria paid that much attention.

“She knew me,” Spencer says slowly.

Aria looks back up.

Spencer chooses her words carefully. “At a darker time.”

The hallway feels very quiet.

Spencer continues.

“Ruby saw things most people didn’t.”

She thinks about the concrete walls of the cell block.

The endless noise.

The nights when sleep never came.

“Some of that… it doesn’t belong in the rest of my life.”

Aria’s brow furrows slightly. “What does that mean?”

Spencer pushes away from the wall and looks at her. “It means I don’t want to drag all of that into your world.”

Aria stares at her.“My world?”

Spencer exhales quietly.

“You shouldn’t have to carry that.”

Aria’s expression softens in a way that makes Spencer look away for a moment.

“Spencer,” she says gently. “You don’t taint people by existing.”

Spencer huffs out a small humorless laugh. “Debatable.”

Aria steps a little closer. “You’re not protecting me by shutting parts of yourself off.”

Spencer looks at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

“Ruby is still one of my best friends,” she says simply.

Aria nods slowly. “I can see that.”

“She’s…” Spencer pauses, searching for the right words. “…someone who stood next to me when things were really bad.” She shrugs slightly. “That kind of thing sticks.”

Aria watches her quietly.

“Forged through fire,” Spencer adds.

A faint smile touches Aria’s mouth. “Very dramatic.”

Spencer shrugs. “Accurate.”

They stand there for a moment.

Not quite tense anymore.

But not fully settled either.

Finally Aria reaches for the door handle.

“Come on,” she says. “The others are probably making a mess in your brand new apartment.”

Spencer snorts softly. “That is statistically very likely.”

Aria opens the door.

The door closes behind them with a soft click as Spencer and Aria step back into the apartment.

The room is louder now than when they left it.

Caleb is halfway inside the bedroom, crouched over the bed frame with a wrench in one hand and the instruction booklet flattened under his knee.

“I swear this diagram is wrong,” he mutters.

“It’s not wrong,” Emily calls from the kitchen area.

Spencer glances over.

Emily is standing at the counter sorting silverware into the drawer. Her sleeves are pushed up to her elbows and a small pile of newspaper wrapping sits beside her.

Aria drifts back toward the kitchen without really looking at Spencer again. She reaches for a dish towel and starts drying one of the glasses Emily has just rinsed.

Like nothing happened.

Hanna stands near the far wall, paint roller in hand, examining her work with the focus of a museum curator.

“You have to admit,” she says. “This yellow is doing a lot for the space.”

Ruby glances up from the half assembled bookshelf on the floor. “It’s aggressive.”

“It’s cheerful,” Hanna shoots back.

Spencer exhales slowly.

The room feels full. Busy. Slightly chaotic in the way that used to feel normal years ago.

She kneels back down beside Ruby.

Ruby tilts her head. “Hallway interrogation over?”

Spencer picks up the screwdriver. “Yes.”

Ruby watches her for a moment but does not push further.

“Good,” she says. “Because I skipped step five.”

Spencer closes her eyes briefly. “Of course you did.”

They return to the shelf.

Wooden panels slide together with dull thuds against the hardwood floor. Spencer focuses on the simple, mechanical rhythm of it. Screw. Turn. Align. Repeat.

But she can feel it.

The shift in the room.

The way Aria keeps her voice low in the kitchen now.

Spencer forces herself not to look up again.

Instead she reaches for another panel.

“Hold this straight,” she tells Ruby.

Ruby steadies the board. “Bossy.”

“Efficient.”

They work quietly for a moment.

Wood slides against wood. Screws turn slowly into place. The bookshelf is beginning to resemble something functional.

Across the room Hanna climbs down from the small step stool she has dragged over to reach the upper corner of the wall.

“Okay,” she says. “This is already transforming the space.”

Caleb calls from the bedroom. “If that paint drips on the floor Spencer is absolutely billing you.”

“Rude,” Hanna replies.

Spencer feels the corner of her mouth twitch.

She glances briefly toward the kitchen.

Aria is standing close to Emily now, drying a plate as Emily places another glass in the cabinet. They say something quietly to each other and Emily laughs.

Aria’s eyes flick toward the living room for a second.

Toward Spencer.

Then she looks back down at the plate in her hands.

Spencer quickly looks back at the shelf.

She tightens the last screw and sits back on her heels. “That should hold.”

Ruby tests the frame by gently pushing it. “Impressive.”

Spencer wipes her hands on her jeans and stands.

“I’m going to check the bedroom boxes,” she says.

Ruby nods absently as she flips through the manual again. “Step eight looks suspicious.”

Spencer walks past the kitchen entrance toward the bedroom, mostly to give herself something to do with the restless energy sitting under her skin.

As she passes the kitchen she hears Emily say something quietly to Aria.

Then Emily’s footsteps move away.

Probably heading back toward the living room.

Spencer continues down the short hallway and pauses beside one of the unopened boxes stacked against the bedroom wall. She lifts the lid and begins sorting through the folded bedding inside.

A moment later she hears another set of footsteps in the kitchen.

Ruby’s voice.

Low.

Calm.

Spencer stills without meaning to.

The hallway muffles the sound slightly but the apartment is small enough that pieces of the conversation carry.

“I’m not competition, Aria.”

Spencer’s hand pauses halfway through unfolding the sheet.

Ruby’s voice remains steady.

“I’m a reminder of something she survived.”

Silence stretches for a moment.

Aria says something in response.

Her voice is so quiet Spencer cannot make out the words.

Just the shape of them.

A soft whisper.

Ruby answers after a second. “Just… don’t hurt her.”

The words land heavier than Spencer expects.

Ruby continues, her voice gentler now. “She had enough of that in there.”

Spencer’s chest tightens sharply.

She stares down at the sheet in her hands.

A strange feeling presses behind her ribs.

Not embarrassment.

Not quite gratitude either.

Something deeper.

She never knew Ruby saw her that clearly.

Never realized Ruby had been watching her that closely through all of it.

The kitchen falls quiet again.

Spencer quickly finishes folding the sheet and places it back into the box before she can think about the conversation any longer.

When she walks back into the living room a moment later, Ruby is already sitting on the floor again beside the bookshelf frame like she never moved.

Caleb is still half inside the bedroom, crouched over the bed frame like it has personally insulted him.

“I swear this piece wasn’t here before,” he mutters, holding up a metal bracket like it might confess.

Emily walks past him carrying a stack of plates, careful and steady.

Aria stands at the sink with a dish towel in her hands, drying the last of the glasses. Her movements are slower now. More deliberate. Every so often her eyes drift toward the living room, toward Spencer, before she looks back down again like she has caught herself doing it.

Hanna caps the paint can with a decisive snap and drops the roller into the tray. “Okay,” she says, stepping back to admire the wall. “This is a masterpiece.”

Everything looks… normal.

Finished, almost.

Like something has settled.

Spencer stands in the middle of it for a second, taking it in. The light coming through the windows. The low hum of conversation. The quiet evidence of people moving through her space and leaving pieces of themselves behind.

It feels unfamiliar.

But not in a bad way.

“So,” she says finally.

Everyone looks up.

Caleb pauses mid argument with the bed frame. Emily turns from the table. Hanna pivots immediately. Aria’s hands still on the glass she is drying.

“Anyone hungry?”

Hanna’s reaction is immediate.“Yes.”

Hanna practically drops the paint tray onto the floor and strides toward Spencer like she has been waiting for permission.

“I saw a Turkish place on the way here,” she says, already halfway into planning mode. “And I have been thinking about pide for the last hour.”

Spencer laughs softly. “Okay. Turkish it is.”

Ruby closes the manual with a soft thud and leans back on her hands.“If it’s the place I think it is,” she says, “they don’t deliver.”

Hanna gasps.“Then we go to them.” and then “Road trip,” she adds immediately, like it is the only logical conclusion.

Emily arches an eyebrow as she crosses her arms. “Is it really a road trip if it’s five minutes up the road?”

Hanna does not hesitate to repeat. “Road trip.”

Caleb straightens up from the bed frame and stretches his arms over his head, wincing slightly as something in his back cracks.

“Okay,” he says, grabbing his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive.” He looks around. “Who’s coming?”

Hanna is already halfway to the door. “Me.”

Emily follows, grabbing her bag from the counter.“Same.”

Ruby pushes herself up from the floor in one smooth movement. “I need a break from this godforsaken bookshelf.”

Caleb nods. “Aria?”

Aria hesitates for a second.

Just a second.

Then she nods.

“Yeah.”

Spencer watches them all for a moment.

The movement. The easy way they fall into step with each other. The noise of it.

And then she says, quieter this time. “I might stay here.” They all turn back toward her. “Keep going,” she adds, gesturing vaguely toward the apartment. “I’ll finish up here.”

Hanna frowns immediately. “Spence, you sure?”

Spencer nods. “Yeah. I just want to get a few things sorted before everything piles up.”

Emily studies her face for a second, like she is checking for something unspoken. Then she nods. “Okay.”

Caleb shrugs. “We’ll bring food back.”

“Obviously,” Hanna adds.

Ruby pauses near the door, her eyes flicking briefly toward Spencer. “You sure you don’t want help finishing that disaster?” she asks, nodding toward the bookshelf.

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh. “I think I can manage.”

Ruby smirks. “Bold claim.”

Spencer meets her eyes. “I’ll survive.”

Ruby nods once. “Don’t skip step ten.”

“Don’t invent new ones,” Spencer shoots back.

That earns her a small grin.

Then they are moving.

Shoes being pulled on. The door opening. Hanna’s voice echoing down the hallway about calling ahead. Caleb telling her to just get in the car. Emily laughing softly at something under her breath.

Aria lingers just a second longer in the doorway, her eyes catching Spencer’s for half a breath before she turns and follows the others out.

And then the apartment is quiet.

Not the hollow, echoing quiet of the halfway house. Not the oppressive silence of a cell where every sound feels like it is being monitored and recorded and filed away.

This is different.

This is hers.

Spencer stands in the middle of the living room, hands resting loosely at her sides, and lets herself feel it.

The faint hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of a car passing on the street below. The way the late afternoon light spills through the windows and stretches across the hardwood floors in long, uneven lines.

Her chest tightens.

For a second, she does not move. Doesn’t think. She just exists in it.

Free.

Unmoored.

The two feelings sit side by side, neither canceling the other out.

She exhales slowly and turns back toward the half-built bookshelf on the floor. One of the screws Ruby abandoned rolls slightly when she nudges the wood with her foot.

The bookshelf is half finished. Slightly crooked where Ruby had insisted something fit when it very clearly had not.

Spencer picks up the screwdriver and studies the frame.

She adjusts one of the panels.

Tightens a screw.

Straightens the alignment.

It comes together more easily now.

Cleaner.

More precise.

She pauses for a second, glancing at the slightly uneven edge where Ruby had forced a piece into place earlier.

A small smile flickers across her face.

It might be easier doing it by herself.

But…

She shakes her head slightly and reaches for the next screw.

Ruby had made a mess of it.

Completely.

And somehow Spencer wouldn’t undo that part even though she could.

She lines up the next piece and keeps going.

The door opens.

Spencer freezes.

Spencer feels it before she fully registers it. A shift in the air. A quiet disruption in the fragile, newly built stillness of the apartment. Her shoulders tighten instinctively, her grip on the screwdriver firming for half a second before she forces herself to loosen it.

She looks up. 

Aria steps back inside, closing the door carefully behind her, like she is trying not to disturb something already delicate. 

“I forgot my jacket,” she says. 

Spencer’s gaze flicks automatically toward the kitchen counter where everything had been dropped in a careless pile earlier. 

There is no jacket. 

Her eyes return to Aria, slower this time. “…Right.”

Aria does not move to look for it. She lingers by the door instead, fingers brushing lightly against the wood, like she needs the contact to steady herself. There is something different in the way she stands. Not uncertain exactly, but… braced.

Like she is about to step into something she cannot take back.

Spencer feels her pulse pick up, quiet but insistent.

Aria exhales, then pushes herself forward, walking into the room.

Slowly.

Spencer rises to her feet without thinking, the movement automatic, like her body has already decided this moment matters before her brain can catch up. She sets the screwdriver down on the edge of the half-built bookshelf, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The space. The silence. The distance between them.

Aria stops a few feet away.

Then hesitates.

Then closes the distance anyway.

She lowers herself to the floor.

Close.

Too close.

Spencer follows, more carefully this time. Controlled. Measured. Like she is stepping onto something unstable and trying not to shift her weight too quickly.

Her knee brushes Aria’s as she settles.

It is brief. Accidental.

It feels like it isn’t.

“Did you actually forget your jacket?” Spencer asks, her voice quieter than she intends.

Aria lets out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but there is no humor in it. Just nerves.

“No.”

Spencer nods once. She had not expected any other answer.

Silence settles between them, but it is not empty. It is full. Heavy with everything that has not been said.

Aria’s hands twist together in her lap. Spencer notices the small things automatically. The way her fingers press into each other. The slight tremor in her wrist.

Something is happening.

Spencer feels it like a shift in gravity.

“Spence…” Aria starts, then stops.

Spencer turns toward her fully now, her body angling in without conscious thought. Her knee stays where it is this time, touching Aria’s. She does not pull away.

“What is it?” she asks.

Aria swallows. Her eyes flick up, meeting Spencer’s, and for a second Spencer sees it clearly.

Fear.

And something deeper. Something more dangerous.

“I think…” Aria starts again, her voice softer now, unsteady in a way Spencer has almost never heard from her. “I think I’ve been jealous.”

Spencer blinks, the word landing wrong. Out of place.

“Jealous?” she repeats, her brow furrowing.

Aria lets out a breath, shaking her head slightly like she is frustrated with herself.

“I didn’t want to be,” she says quickly. “I didn’t want to feel anything that I couldn’t explain. I thought if I ignored it, it would just… go away.”

Spencer’s heart starts to beat faster, each pulse more noticeable than the last.

“Aria,” she says carefully, “what are you talking about?”

Aria’s gaze drops to her hands for a second before lifting again. Her eyes are glossy now, like she is holding something back.

“When you were gone,” she says, her voice quieter, more vulnerable with each word, “I kept replaying everything.”

Spencer’s chest tightens.

“Everything?” she echoes.

Aria nods.

“Every moment. Every look you gave me. Every time you showed up for me, even when everything was falling apart.” Her voice wavers slightly. “Every time you chose me.”

Spencer’s throat goes dry.

“And every time,” Aria continues, her voice thinner now, “I chose Ezra instead of… whatever this was.”

The name lands between them like something heavy and rotten.

Spencer feels it in her chest. That old, familiar ache. The one she learned how to ignore. The one she buried so deep it almost stopped existing.

Almost.

“Aria…” she starts, but the words don’t come.

Because what is she supposed to say to that?

Aria shakes her head, like she cannot stop now that she has started.

“I told myself it didn’t mean anything,” she continues. “That we were just friends. That I was just… confused.” She lets out a shaky breath. “But I wasn’t confused. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Spencer feels like the floor beneath her has shifted slightly. Not enough to knock her over. Enough to make her unsure of her footing.

“Aria, what are you saying?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aria looks at her then. Really looks at her.

And something in Spencer’s chest cracks open.

“That I should have been there,” Aria says softly. “That I should have chosen you. That I should have seen you.” Her voice breaks slightly on the last word. “And that I didn’t.”

Spencer’s immediate instinct is to fix it. To correct it. To make it easier.

“That’s not-” she starts, instinctively, but Aria shakes her head.

“- Let me finish,” she says, her voice steadier now, even as her eyes shine. “Because I’ve spent so long not saying this.”

Spencer nods slowly.

Aria reaches out then.

Tentative.

Careful.

Her fingers brush against Spencer’s hand first, like she is giving her time to pull away.

Spencer doesn’t.

She lets her hand turn, lets their fingers lace together.

Her pulse is loud in her ears now.

“I still feel it,” Aria says, her voice almost a whisper. “I never stopped.”

Spencer’s breath stutters.

“Feel what?” she asks, even though she already knows.

Aria’s grip tightens just slightly.

“You,” she says.

The word is simple.

But it lands like something seismic.

Spencer’s mind spirals for a second. Too many thoughts. Too many memories. Moments she dismissed. Moments she buried. The quiet, persistent feeling she never let herself name because naming it would make it real. And real meant impossible. 

Because Aria loved Ezra. 

Because Aria chose Ezra. 

Because Spencer learned, very early, how to lose gracefully.

All the moments she pushed down.

All the things she refused to name.

All the ways she told herself it was easier not to want this.

“I…” Spencer starts, but her voice fails her.

Aria leans closer, not touching yet, but close enough that Spencer can feel the warmth of her, the quiet pull of her presence.

“I love you,” Aria says.

Everything stops.

Spencer just looks at her.

There is a part of her that does not believe it. That cannot. Because this is the thing she never allowed herself to want out loud. The thing she locked away somewhere safe and unreachable.

Because wanting it meant risking it.

And she had already lost too much.

“You-” she tries, but the words feel too big, too fragile to say wrong.

Aria doesn’t look away. “I do,” she says again, softer now. “And I think I always have. I just didn’t know how to admit it. Not to you. Not to myself.”

Spencer closes her eyes for a second.

Just a second.

Because it is easier that way. Easier to say it when she does not have to see Aria’s face. Easier to pretend, just for a breath, that this is not something that can be taken away.

“I wanted you too,” she whispers.

The words feel like a confession. Like something she has been holding onto for years without ever letting herself examine too closely.

When she opens her eyes again, Aria is closer.

So close.

Their foreheads touch, light and tentative.

Spencer exhales, her breath unsteady, her chest tight in a way that feels nothing like panic and everything like something breaking open.

She cannot believe this is happening. 

Not after everything. 

Not after the trial. 

Not after prison. 

Not after teaching herself, over and over again, that this was something she would never have. 

She had made peace with it. Or something that looked like peace. She filed it away as another thing she survived. 

Another thing she lost. 

And now it is here. 

In front of her.

Real.

Aria moves first.

Slowly.

Giving Spencer time to pull away.

She doesn’t.

Their lips meet, soft at first. Careful. Like they are both still half-expecting this to disappear.

Spencer feels it everywhere.

In her chest. In her hands. In the way her fingers tighten around Aria’s without thinking.

Aria’s other hand comes up to rest lightly against her jaw, grounding her.

The kiss deepens, just slightly. Not rushed. Not desperate.

But certain.

Spencer feels something inside her shift. Something that has been tight for so long she forgot what it felt like to let it go.

For the first time in a long time, she is not thinking about the past. Not about the trial. Not about prison. Not about A. Not about the years she lost.

Just this.

Just Aria.

Just the feeling of being here, in this moment, in this space that is finally hers.

When they finally pull back, it is slow. Reluctant.

Their foreheads stay pressed together, their hands still intertwined.

Spencer lets out a quiet breath, her lips curving just slightly, almost without her permission.

She still does not fully believe it.

She feels… lighter.

Not fixed. Not healed.

But something close to it.

Something real.

The door slams open.

The sound cracks through the apartment, loud and sudden, shattering the quiet that had wrapped so tightly around Spencer and Aria just moments before.

They jerk apart.

Spencer’s hand slips from Aria’s like it has been caught doing something it should not. Her body reacts before her mind does, shoulders straightening, spine locking into something closer to composure. It is instinct. Old and ingrained.

Her heart does not get the memo.

It is still racing.

“Where’ backkkkkk,” Hanna sings, her voice bright and completely unaware for exactly half a second.

Then she stops.

Her eyes flick between them.

Slowly.

A smile spreads across her face. Not subtle. Not even trying to be.

“Oh,” she says, dragging the word out. “Wait. What did we miss?”

Spencer feels the heat rise instantly, sharp and impossible to ignore. It creeps up her neck, settles in her cheeks. She drops her gaze, suddenly very interested in the half-built bookshelf in front of her.

“Nothing,” she says.

It sounds unconvincing even to her own ears.

She winces slightly.

Hanna lets out a laugh, already moving further into the apartment, setting the bag of food down on the table with exaggerated care like she is deliberately giving herself a better vantage point.

“You sure?” she asks, glancing back over her shoulder. “Because Aria is glowing.”

Spencer’s head snaps up before she can stop herself.

Aria is, in fact, glowing.

There is no other word for it. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes brighter than Spencer has seen them in a long time. She looks… lighter.

Spencer’s chest tightens at the sight.

“Yeah,” Emily adds, stepping in behind Hanna, balancing a stack of containers in her hands before setting them down. There is a softness to her expression, but her smile is unmistakably teasing. “Anything you want to tell the class?”

“But keep it PG,” Ruby calls from where she is leaning against the doorframe. Her tone is dry, amused, like she has already put the pieces together and is just enjoying the show now.

Spencer feels her face get warmer.

“Okay,” Aria says, holding up her hands, a breath of laughter in her voice that Spencer can feel more than hear. “Okay. Clearly you all already know what happened.”

“I mean…” Emily says, raising an eyebrow as she leans back against the counter. “Do we?”

Hanna gasps dramatically.

“Oh my god,” she says, turning fully toward them now and playing up her shock. “Did you two finally get your act together?”

Spencer lets out a small, disbelieving huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and something else entirely.

“Is that what this is?” she mutters, mostly to herself.

Ruby snorts softly. “Took you long enough,” she says, not even pretending to lower her voice.

Spencer shoots her a look, but there is no real heat behind it. If anything, there is something else there. Something softer. Something like gratitude she has not figured out how to say out loud.

Aria laughs then, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed, but happy in a way that makes Spencer’s chest feel too tight and too full all at once.

“Yeah,” Aria admits finally, glancing at Spencer for just a second before looking back at the others. “Something like that.”

Hanna claps her hands once, sharp and delighted. “I knew it,” she says, pointing between them. “I have been saying this for years.”

“You have not,” Spencer says automatically.

“I absolutely have,” Hanna shoots back without missing a beat. “You just never listen to me.”

“Shocking,” Caleb adds dryly from the doorway, juggling a bag and a drink carrier as he steps inside.

Emily is smiling at them both now. Not teasing this time. Just… warm. “It’s about time,” she says quietly.

Spencer meets her gaze, something unspoken passing between them. Understanding. Relief. 

Spencer exhales slowly.

The tension in her shoulders loosens, just slightly.

The room shifts back into something familiar. Comfortable. Safe.

Hanna is already unpacking containers, talking a mile a minute about the food. “I got everything,” she says. “Like, everything. If it was on the menu, it’s probably in here.”

“You say that every time,” Caleb mutters, setting down the drinks.

“And every time I’m right,” Hanna shoots back, already handing out containers.

“I like her,” Ruby says, pushing herself off the doorframe, nodding toward Hanna. “She plans ahead.”

“Finally, someone appreciates me,” Hanna says, beaming.

Spencer watches it all for a second.

The movement. The noise. The easy rhythm of it.

Aria moves past her then, close enough that their shoulders brush.

It is small.

Intentional.

Spencer feels it.

She glances over, just for a second.

Aria meets her eyes.

There is something new there now. Not unfamiliar, but… unhidden. No more looking away. No more pretending not to see it.

Spencer feels her breath catch again, softer this time.

Quieter.

Real.

“Are you going to stand there or are you going to eat?” Hanna calls, snapping her out of it.

Spencer blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “Right,” she says, stepping forward.

They gather around the small table, or what will eventually be a table once Spencer assembles it. For now, it is a mix of sitting on the floor and leaning against walls, passing containers back and forth, arguing lightly over who gets what.

It is messy.

It is loud.

It is… good.

Spencer finds herself sitting between Aria and Ruby without really remembering how she got there.

Ruby bumps her shoulder lightly. “Not bad, Hastings,” she murmurs under her breath. “New place. New life. Finally making some decent choices.”

Spencer huffs out a quiet laugh. “Debatable,” she says.

Ruby’s mouth twitches. “Fair.”

On her other side, Aria’s knee presses lightly against hers.

It stays there.

Spencer does not move away.

Conversation flows around them. Hanna telling some exaggerated version of the five minute drive. Caleb correcting her. Emily laughing. Ruby adding in dry commentary that somehow makes everything funnier.

Spencer listens.

She talks.

She laughs.

And somewhere in the middle of it, she realizes something.

She is not waiting for it to end.

She is not bracing for something to go wrong.

She is just… here.