They found themselves outside on the gallery's terrace, the city lights twinkling in the distance. Lena had given her a supportive nod before disappearing, but Debbie wasn't sure if she was grateful for the space or terrified of it.
Pasco leaned against the railing, his expression unreadable. "You look good," he said, breaking the silence.
"Don't," Debbie said, her voice firm. "Don't start with small talk."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think I'd see you here. I wasn't ready for this."
Debbie let out a bitter laugh. "You weren't ready? Pasco, I've spent years not being ready because of you. And now you're here, like nothing ever happened?"
"I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly. "But you did," she snapped.
"And the worst part is, you never even gave me a reason. You just disappeared, like I didn't matter."
Pasco looked at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn't quite place—guilt, regret, or maybe just confusion.
"I wasn't in the right place back then. I didn't know how to handle what we had."
"And now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I still think about you, Debbie. I always have."
His words were a double-edged sword, cutting through her with equal parts pain and longing. Before she could respond, a voice called her name from inside.
It was Filex.