The Latecomer Novels & Stories

He looked at me now with an expression that was calm and direct and had something underneath it that I was learning to read as his version of concern, a slight tightening around the eyes that in anyone else might have been more visible. "There is something you need to know," he said, sitting down on the wall beside me without asking permission, which was very much his style. "We received information this morning from a contact in the eastern trade routes. A traveling merchant passed through Silverstone territory two days ago with gossip from this part of the continent." He paused for just a moment before continuing. "The merchant mentioned a new female in Nightfall. Young, unknown origin, ca

Samantha said, sounding perfectly calm, "my team-building event just ended. I’m on my way now. Wait another half hour. I’ll be there soon." She was already three hours late, and even now, she was still lying. There was a thunderstorm raging around me, but on her end of the line, it was completely quiet. I wiped the rain from my face and let out a cold laugh. "Are you really on your way here, Samantha, or are you still in some hotel bed?" She went silent. For a long moment, she stammered without managing to form a proper answer. "The engagement party is over," I added. "What's the point of showing up now? Stay where you are and keep having fun with your boy toy. I'm not in the mood to listen

Serena's heart skipped a beat, and she jumped out of his embrace. "What are you doing here so late at night?" "Taking a stroll," Wilson answered. Serena thought speechlessly, "There he goes again, telling bullshit with a straight face." "You showed up here late at night the last time, and this time as well. Mr. Quade, is there nothing happening at work recently to keep you busy?" she asked. "But don't you think that I appear at the perfect timing every time?"

"Callum, it's already so late, and she's still calling you? Doesn't she know how to keep some boundaries between men and women? She's not into you, is she?" Caryn Dudley's hostility was blatant. Callum's tone turned cold. "Diana, maybe don't call me this late anymore. It's easy for people to get the wrong idea. I'm hanging up." He had never spoken to me like that before. By the time I gathered myself, the call had already ended. Long ago. I looked at the clock. It wasn't even eight yet. That wasn't late by any measure. There was a time when I could call Callum at three or four in the morning, and he'd answer right away, asking what was wrong.

He opened his mouth, then closed it and left. At noon, we went to the pack's commercial center to get the last few things for tomorrow's ceremony. As soon as we arrived, I heard arguing from above. I looked up. Of course, it was Selena again.

—quiet, fast with numbers, and able to recite federal subsidy clauses verbatim in under ten minutes. I intentionally kept a ten-foot radius around everyone. When they hit the strip club after work, I went back to my apartment for a cold shower, punched the day’s data into my laptop, and pan-fried a chicken breast. On the first payday, I bought myself a used Tacoma, four-wheel-drive, with a rusty bumper, like a loyal coyote. I split the rest of the cash three ways: rent, emergency, and an anonymous donation back to Palermo—in the name of “The Ghosts from the Fire,” for the nameless families impacted by that bloodbath.

It was normal for him to receive an invitation. When I did not see him at the start of the wedding, I had actually felt relieved. I had not expected him to come after all. "I've been dealing with some things lately, so I came late. "I wanted to find you, but Lucas and Zoe wouldn't tell me where you were. I went to your company, and they said you had quit. "So I figured... if I came today, I'd definitely see you." He took out a ring box and opened it before dropping to one knee.

She carefully flipped it open. "16th August. My stomach's been hurting lately. Classmates took me to the hospital. Apparently, I have late-stage stomach cancer, and I only have three months left to live. I still owe my classmates the consultation fee. I told Mom about it, but she didn't believe me." "3rd September. My stomach's getting worse. Every day's torture. Sometimes I think death might be a release, but I still have the whole world to explore." "20th September. I don't think I can last three months. My body hurts everywhere. I think my release is coming sooner rather than later."

I murmured. And what's with the slamming of the door like a teenager who weren't able to join a Friday night party with his friends. He's so... he's evil. 07:03 P.M. CONFERENCE HALL Clearly, Mr. Alvarado has his sights set on me. I am one hour three minutes late. I learned firsthand this morning why he detested being late. It's safe to say that "late" isn't defined in the Sebastian Alvarado Dickhead Dictionary. In addition to "love," "caring," "thank you," and "lunch."

I see a tiny hand fly up. I had told them that that is the appropriate way to call someone’s attention, instead of just talking, as no one would hear you, talk more of responding to your question. “Yes, Milly.” I smile at the curious girl. “Ma Luna, what does it mean to be late?” Goodness. Who gave birth to this bright girl? “Ma Luna said John came late yesterday when his mommy brought him when we had done a lot of things already. That is what late means. To come when things have already started happening.” A round faced slim boy replies, blinking rapidly at me.