Riddles at the Edge of the Pool

The Luxor's pool shimmered with that fake, chemically perfect blue that only exists in Las Vegas. Elena ran her fingers through her hair — still dark, still hers, unlike the dignity she'd left somewhere between the blackjack tables and the taxi ride here.

"You're doing it again," Marcus said, not looking up from his drink. "The sphinx act. Silent. Enigmatic. Whatever tragedy you're processing, I can't read your mind."

"There's nothing to read."

"We've been friends for fifteen years, El. I know when something's actually wrong versus when you're just being dramatic."

She laughed, a dry sound. "Who says I can't be both?"

"Fair point."

He set down his drink. The plastic cup sweated onto the concrete. Around them, the pool crowd enacted their own desperate theater: tourists pretending to be someone they weren't, couples faking intimacy, everyone performing for an audience that wasn't watching. The Egyptian theme stretched thin — hieroglyphs on the walls, a replica sphinx guarding the entrance, all of it mythology repackaged for profit.

"I got the offer," she said finally.

Marcus froze. "The London one?"

"They want me there next month. It's everything I said I wanted."

"But?"

"But I'm forty-two years old. Starting over. Again. What if I'm just running away?" She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "What if the problem isn't the city or the job or the relationship? What if it's me?"

"That's the real riddle, isn't it?" He gestured toward the sphinx statue in the distance. "Oedipus got destroyed by the answer. Maybe some questions aren't meant to be solved."

"That's not helpful."

"It's not supposed to be helpful. It's supposed to be true." He stood up, offered his hand. "Come on. The flight doesn't leave until tomorrow. Let's go lose some money we can't afford to lose. At least the house always wins — there's something comforting about guaranteed disappointment."

She took his hand. "You're a terrible friend."

"I know. It's my best quality."

The sphinx watched them walk away, smiling at its own terrible secrets.