“I didn’t want to tell you before because we were swamped.” I hold my breath and wait for the inevitable but. “We’ve never had this issue so it must have just slipped your mind. But you’re not allowed to wear rings while handling food.”

I look at her confused. The words “I’m not wearing any” are on the tip of my tongue. I almost let them escape my lips and lie straight to her face. Because when I look down all the evidence is there to prove that Brit is right.

Both happiness and fear strike through me at the sight of the thick gold band wrapped around the ring finger on my right hand. I can just see words engraved into the ring and I have to resist the urge to bring it closer to inspect it while in Brit’s presence.

I swallow. I swear it wasn’t there this morning. How have I not noticed it?

She watches me curiously, and I try to force a smile. “Sorry. It was an accident.”

Brit returns the smile, only hers reach her eyes. “That’s fine. Just leave it in your cubby hole before your shift.” She walks backwards in the direction of the door to the main cafe. “Give Sam a break once you’re done.”

I nod at her, willing her to move out of the room faster. As soon as she’s out of sight, I rip the ring off my finger. He must have slipped it on while I was asleep—it’s the only plausible explanation.

The ring is weighted and solid. It looks and feels more expensive than anything I own. The golden band glints in the light as I bring it closer to my eyes to read the words engraved in his writing:

EVEN IN DEATH

My heartbeat stutters at the words. I’ve stopped trying to decipher the meaning of the Faceless Man’s words, crossing it off as just plain poetry. But those three words hold too much meaning this time after the dream I had and the hours of research on the computer, looking at the meaning of his name.

The inside of the band catches my attention and turns my blood cold:

LETUM & LILITH

Despite the fear, something else shakes me to my core.

He hasn’t left me.

He still wants me.

I’m still his muse.

It wasn’t a dream.

I know who he is.

I’ve sat here for five minutes, staring at the ring. If Evan or any of his flatmates saw me sitting in my car outside of their house, no one bothered to check on me.

After my shift finished, I slipped the ring back on without thinking. Like it has always been there and I’m naked without it. The weight is comforting on my finger, a small reminder that he’s always with me, even though his mark is already wrapped around my neck.

I used to hate mixing metals; silver and gold. Now it feels like that’s how it should be worn, balancing in harmony yet perfectly opposites: love and hate; life and death; heaven and hell.

I glance away from the ring, then back to the text I received from him the second I slipped the ring back on. A single word.

Unknown Sender: Soon.

A shiver rolls down my spine every time I see it, and little bells go off in my head. Not in alarm, but in anticipation.

I know I should take the ring off before going to see Evan. I have to. But it feels like I might lose the Faceless Man forever if I take it off. He only contacted me after gifting the ring, what if I take it off and he goes away again? The ring was the only contact I’ve had from him in days. Does any of that matter if I’m just here to break up with Evan?

It’s been a long time coming. Hearing the same feminine giggle on the other side of the phone every time I spoke to him this week was what made me crack. He’s not happy with me, I’m not happy with him. We both have someone else who makes us feel alive while we just go back to each other to poison the well we share. Still, I owe it to him not to wear someone else’s ring. The fact that it’s on my promise finger is irrelevant right now.

With another ragged breath, I decide to keep it on—just on another finger. Not for any other reason but the fact that it brings me comfort. A reminder that there is someone out there who is looking out for me in their own twisted way. I admit that wearing this might make me a bad person, and no amount of shit Evan’s thrown my way makes it any better. If anything, this is a silent ‘Fuck you, Evan’. To add fuel to the fire, Letum will probably like knowing that I’m wearing his ring while breaking up with Evan.

It’s worrisome because that very thought makes me tuck my ringless hand into the pocket of my hoodie, while the other is glinting under the gray sky as I make my way inside.

The house is quiet, just as it was when I came here a week ago. I probably should have texted him to make sure that he was home. His truck is in the driveway, but that doesn’t really say much, he’s never been the type to volunteer to drive. Evan is the type of guy that would rather be in control of the music.

He doesn’t work nights like his other two flatmates, and lord knows what that obsidian-haired girl’s work hours are like when she seems to be there every time I’ve spoken to Evan. Well, at least I think that it’s her. Unless he has another friend that I don’t know about.

Nate looks up at me from his spot on the couch when I walk into the living room. He gives me the same pitiful look as last time. It makes me shrink into myself and I twist my new ring for some semblance of comfort.

I clear my throat, not sure if I should say goodbye to him or apologize in advance if I come out screaming.

“Is Evan home?” Can Nate see the fear on my face? Has he noticed that I’m wearing a new ring? Unlikely, but the gold band is at the forefront of my mind, right next to the five words I’m about to say to Evan.

Nate looks at his hands for a moment, a barely visible tremor goes through his jaw. “I heard him busy in his room at lunch. But he’s been napping for the whole afternoon.”

Busy. Right. Busy gaming? Busy talking to someone that isn’t me? Busy using a whole paycheck for drugs? Or busy finding himself in another woman?

I can’t get angry when I was dreaming about another man—only it turns out that it might not be a dream after all.

I nod and shuffle my feet over the worn carpet until I reach the first room on my left with the smudges around the handle from opening the door straight after working construction.

Dread sits heavy in my chest. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of my head that something bad is going to happen. You’re just working yourself up, I tell myself. The ring is giving me anxiety just as much as it’s giving me comfort.

I hang my head back and stare at the ceiling, trying to muster up all of my confidence and my energy while also mentally preparing myself for whatever venom might spill from his lips. I imagine my Faceless Man standing behind me while whispering words of encouragement, giving me the strength I need to go through with this.

I take a fortifying breath, then knock. When he doesn’t respond, I call, “Evan.”

Biting the bullet, I grasp the old-fashioned door handle and push the door open slowly, inch by inch. He doesn’t stir at the sound, still buried beneath the duvet. So I let myself in and close the door loudly behind me in the hopes that it will wake him.

I’m too anxious to go any further, so I press myself against the door. The idea that I could easily swing it open to run adds some calm to my dire situation.

His room is the same as always. Sort of. Hanging on the back of his chair is a baby blue cardigan, the one that the girl with the obsidian hair was wearing. A two seater green couch is squeezed between the door and his computer setup that’s littered with old take-out packets. I zero in on the tube of lipgloss hidden within the mix of rubbish, and the matching baby blue scrunchy hanging off the handle to the closet. I wonder what I’d find if I opened and looked inside. More things that belong to the obsidian girl, perhaps?