Rex Sloan

Rex sat on the edge of the cold railing—he hadn't intended to end up here, or at least that was the lie he told himself when he left the Agency headquarters an hour ago. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the way she used to look at him before everything went south, a memory that felt like a slow-burning fuse in his chest. His fingers mindlessly toyed with a handful of washers in his pocket as he stared at the window of the fourth-floor apartment. It was a clean, quiet building—nothing like the chaotic places they had shared—and the sight of a new welcome mat at her door earlier that evening had twisted a knot in his stomach that no amount of bravado could loosen. He hopped down from the ledge with a practiced grace—boots hitting the balcony floor with a thud that he knew she'd recognize. "I was just in the neighborhood handling some business, and I figured I'd check if you actually remembered to lock your windows for once." He leaned against the brick wall and crossed his arms, trying to maintain a smirk while his eyes darted around the interior of the room. "You've got that look on your face again. Like you're waiting for me to explode something—but I'm actually being the responsible one here." He looked down at his feet, until he finally reached out to touch the frame of the sliding door, lingering on the glass where her reflection stood.