Lexandra—that is, Alexandria Roseblade, also known as Max Anderson—seemed to light up at the sight of the man who walked through the door with me, only to realize a moment later exactly who it was.

His jaw dropped, he froze, and then he fixed me with a glare sharp enough to draw blood.

"Why'd you bring him?! I told you to keep me a secret!"

"When did you ever say that? And why are you keeping secrets anyway?"

"My heart is delicate!"

"That doesn't even make—oh wait, are you still into Seth? Is it awkward being all dressed up and talking to Seth's son?"

"Shut it, you little brat!"

Lexandra hissed under his breath, practically vibrating with outrage.  This easy banter with someone I could be completely myself around loosened something tight in my chest.

Finally freed from the endless interviews and questioning that had begun with detectives and ended with Qasim, I had come to Café Lexandra with Brian. When Brian saw my utterly drained state at the ground-floor entrance where we'd agreed to meet, his first suggestion was to drink at home. But I desperately wanted to get some fresh air. The best way to reset my mood was to drink in a familiar, lively place with people I trusted.

Besides, Brian and I had been looked after quite a bit by "Max" during our troubled secondary school years. I figured Brian would want to say hello at least once to the warm-hearted "neighborhood big brother" from back then.

Speaking of which, said big brother was currently sneaking nervous glances at Brian with obvious panic. Did he really think his years-long crush on Seth had gone unnoticed? Brian had always been annoyingly perceptive about reading the room. I'd bet anything he'd figured out Lexandra's feelings early on, pretended not to notice, and even gone so far as to subtly run interference for him from the shadows.

Then again, the only person oblivious enough to miss such blatant signals was probably the dense Seth himself.

I glanced over at Lexandra's pained grimace. Brian seemed to have noticed his discomfort too. In a voice gentler than usual for him, he addressed Lexandra.

"It's been a while, Max. Or should I call you Lexandra?"

"Whichever's easier. I still go by Max in private."

"I'll call you whatever you want to be called. Good to see you're doing well. Didn't expect you to have come out to Brisbane, though."

"A bunch of coincidences lined up. What'll you have?"

"Got any Macallan?"

"Of course."

"On the rocks, then."

Having ordered with practiced ease, Brian deftly navigated between the seats with his long legs and headed straight for a table in the back. He must have noticed Lexandra wanted to tell me something.

As I was savoring that familiar, brusque consideration of his with nostalgia, Lexandra grabbed my arm with crushing force and spun me around.

"Ow, Lexandra! You'll tear my arm off!"

"That, that boy, that boy—"

"What?"

"He's grown into one hell of a man!"

"Brian?"

"Who else would I be talking about?!"

Lexandra squirmed as he whisper-shouted in excitement.

"Those are Seth’s genes, I swear. Just breathing the air around him makes my head go all fuzzy. And hasn't he gotten way gentler? I'm shocked."

"Oh really..."

At my lukewarm response, Lexandra narrowed his eyes, looking deflated.

"What's with you? You used to be crazy about him, and now that you've got him you're acting all cool. Let me tell you, if you keep showing that many openings..."

"We're not dating."

At Lexandra's words, I spat that out in a pricklier mood than even I expected.

"This isn't a date either. You know he dumped me three years ago."

"Yeah, but you two obviously—"

Lexandra started to say, but stopped when he caught my damp stare.

"Fine, whatever. Here, your drink. This one's gin and tonic."

"...I'll have the same as him."

"Not for you, sweetie. Don’t ruin the composition of a perfectly good Macallan."

Saying this, he shoved the glass at me and turned his back before I could bite back.

I made a face at his back as he started greeting other regulars, then headed toward Brian, who sat with legs crossed, commanding the attention of the entire bar.

"Ordering whiskey on the rocks. Show-off."

I grumbled as I set the glass in front of Brian, and he raised an eyebrow with perfect composure.

"I don't need to show off at this point. I already know I'm cool. —Hey, don't drink yet. Wait until I'm done talking."

"This much won't get me drunk."

"Just in case."

"And here I was all ready to go."

I sighed and gazed longingly at the carbonation in my glass. It had been a truly exhausting day from morning to night. If he was going to make me wait any longer, I should have grabbed a quick drink while Brian wasn't looking.

Brian watched me for a moment, then let out a sigh that was almost a groan and leaned his broad back against the chair.

"...One sip only."

"Yes! That's more like it!"

I quickly pulled the glass toward me and raised it before me with a beaming smile.

"To our reunion."

At my toast, Brian raised his glass too, with a wry smile.

"Now then, let's get to it."

"...Already down to business, you impatient bastard."

Ignoring my sigh as I set down my glass, Brian smoothly pulled a notebook from his pocket. A simple, understated black notebook. Very detective-like. Why did competent people always—never mind. I hadn't properly processed a single thing that had happened today. Right now, I didn't want to remember anything. Future me could deal with the troublesome stuff tomorrow and beyond.

Even as I told myself this, I was thinking of a certain blue-eyed college student in the back of my mind—when Brian's next words made me lean forward involuntarily.

"I asked the bar staff about the man you were with at the time of the incident."

"Wait, you've already started?"

"Yeah. You'd been to that bar a few times, right? Several staff members remembered you."

Someone actually remembered me properly in that dimly lit dining bar!

"That makes me happy. I'll have to go back."

At my words, Brian's lips relaxed for just a moment.

Then he quickly composed his expression and continued.

"According to the staff, you were drinking alone when this man approached you. He was wearing a cap so they couldn't tell his hair color well, but it was probably somewhere between dark blond and dark brown. He was wearing a dark T-shirt, had quite a large build, and wasn't particularly friendly."

"Wait, did this turn into a description of you?"

The instant I deflected, Brian narrowed his eyes.

"Listen seriously. Height was probably around one-ninety, age estimated at twenties or early thirties. Just to confirm—does anyone you know fit that description?"

"I have an old friend named Brian..."

"Ah, maybe he dyed his hair lighter for that one night and added fifteen centimeters to his width. —Think seriously, you idiot."

"Easy for you to say."

I mentally ran through acquaintances who might fit those characteristics. "That's a pretty common description. There are plenty of guys who'd match. —Like him, for instance."

I indicated a friend-of-a-friend who happened to catch my eye, and the man noticed my gaze and smiled toward us—or rather, mostly toward Brian.

When Brian turned his eyes to the man, the guy's face lit up just like Lexandra's had when we'd walked in.

I’d suspected as much, but had his gravitational pull actually intensified over the past three years?  What on earth was going on with the magnetic field around him?

In my fed-up mood, I raised my glass to my lips. In my line of sight, the man fidgeted as if wanting to come over. But before he could make up his mind, Brian turned back to me and plucked the glass from my hand.

"...Not him. He's thinner than what I was told."

"So more muscular than that guy? He really was pretty built, huh."

I sighed, staring resentfully at the glass now in Brian's possession.

"That narrows it down quite a bit, then. Should I just ask around if anyone drank with me recently?"

I thought that was the quickest method, but Brian immediately shook his head at my offer.

"—No, just give me a list of everyone you can think of. Just tell me for now."

"Hmm. Well, if you say so."

"Though I do think it's unlikely to be someone you know."

Having said this, Brian reached for his Macallan, then seemed to reconsider and clenched his hand into a fist instead.

"Hey. Can you really not remember anything from that night?"

At Brian's low voice, I shifted my gaze from that fist to his eyes. The grayish-blue was more serious than his tone suggested, and I found myself at a loss for words.

"Is my situation more serious than I thought?"

"..."

"Alright. But that whole being-with-someone-at-the-bar thing—my memory is weirdly hazy even to me. Maybe I was tired. I think the alcohol hit me much faster than usual."

"...Go on."

At Brian's prompt, I cast my mind back to that night again.

That day, after lunch with Alan, I'd headed to Fairfield for the final check on a job that had been running me ragged. Finally freed from the long project after just some minor adjustments, I'd made a beeline for that dining bar.

It was around seven in the evening.

Valued client or not, being kept endlessly for just minor adjustments and final checks was pretty draining.

"I hadn't planned on staying within legal alcohol limits for driving, so I'd taken the train to Fairfield. I finished my first gin fizz quickly, ordered a second while snacking on oysters and nuts, and then—huh?"

I stopped mid-sentence.

My heart gave an unpleasant lurch, stealing my breath.

"Two drinks..."

I murmured, and even I realized something was wrong.

From partway through my second drink, my memory was already becoming hazy.

I was tired from work? Of course, it was possible I'd been in worse shape than I thought. But even so.

Brian watched me tilt my head in confusion, took a small sip of his whiskey, then prompted me in a low voice.

"What is it? Tell me."

"Hey, Brian. Maybe I got drunk way earlier than I thought."

"Meaning?"

"My memory suddenly gets fuzzy from the middle of my second drink."

Brian's face visibly darkened. He glanced around, quietly sweeping away the gazes directed at him with his eyes.

"What were you drinking at the time?"

"A mojito."

"...The alcohol content isn't particularly low."

"Still not enough to black out. It's barely within driving limits."

Brian looked at me as if wanting to say something, then shook his head and continued his questions.

"Normally, when does alcohol start affecting you?"

"With mojitos, around four drinks. I can handle a bit more with beer. Even then, I wouldn't say I get drunk."

"Did you leave your second glass unattended?"

"Hm, what do you mean?"

I blinked in confusion at the question, and he slowly, seriously elaborated.

"Did you leave your seat with your second drink still on the table?"

"No... wait, yes! How did you know? Was it you after all?"

"Listen seriously, Luke."

Brian's voice sharpened slightly, as if to rein me in.

"I'm asking if something might have been slipped into that second drink."

"Slipped?"

Finally understanding his question, I let my jaw drop in shock.

"Wait, you mean drink spiking...?! Does that really happen to people?"

"It does. Is your wallet okay?"

"My cards!"

I frantically checked my card case, and seeing all the proper cards lined up, I breathed a sigh of relief. At the same time, I started feeling embarrassed, as if I'd been entertaining paranoid delusions.

"Hey, Brian. Is drink spiking really that common?"

"I'm not sure what your standard for 'common' is, but it's probably more frequent than you think. There are even rumors it's suddenly increased recently. I haven't heard of any specific incidents being reported, and the police haven't made any public announcements, so it's just rumors."

"This might not be that, though."

Startled by the possibility that I'd nearly been caught up in a crime, I mumbled this protest.

"Maybe I just got drunk early and that person was just taking care of me."

Once I said it aloud, it started to feel more plausible. The idea that someone had drugged my drink seemed less realistic than the notion that I'd simply passed out after two drinks.

But Brian didn't seem to agree with my assessment.

Arms crossed, his face troubled, he'd gone full detective mode again as he continued questioning me.

"What do you think, Luke? Can you think of any reason someone might do that to you?"

"No! Of course not." I shook my head firmly at the former detective's question. "In the first place, the purpose of drugging someone's drink would be..."

"Theft or rape."

I choked for a moment at the ominous word, then continued.

"At that early hour? If I were the culprit, I wouldn't choose that time or that bar."

"Agreed. That's rather sharp for you."

Brian narrowed his eyes, making an impressed yet rude observation.

"In other words, if something really was slipped into your drink, you might have been the target from the start."

"...This is feeling more and more off-base. Can we just chalk it up to me being tired?"

I also wanted to flee from this topic immediately.

Seeing me lower my eyes in discomfort, Brian sighed and relaxed his powerful shoulders.

"Well, either way, we'll know once we find the guy and ask him directly."

"Yeah. This is a mess. What was supposed to prove my alibi is turning into something crazy."

"True. —Here, drink up. Sorry for scaring you."

"Who's scared of what, exactly?"

I protested with a pout, but by the time my gin and tonic was empty, I had to admit that I was, as Brian said, at least shocked by the possibility of having been caught up in a crime. Trying to hide it, I hastily poured the remaining alcohol down my throat.

Alan, who had been living an ordinary college life with his friends just days ago, had been murdered. Perhaps crime lurks unexpectedly close by, and we simply walk blithely along the edge without noticing its presence. But Brian had lived his life staring across that line.

I stole a glance up at Brian's eyes. Maybe I didn't understand him as well as I thought I did. That realization unsettled me more deeply than I would have expected.