Riddles by the Water

Elias stood at the edge of the infinity **pool**, the desert stretching beyond it like an endless riddle posed by an ancient **sphinx**. He adjusted his fedora—Mara's **hat**, really, the one she'd left behind on what was supposed to be their last anniversary trip. Three years later, and he still wore it when the emptiness became too loud.

"You're going to burn through that thing if you keep fidgeting."

Marcus. His oldest **friend**, the only one who'd shown up at the funeral without making awkward comments about moving on. Marcus, who'd somehow convinced Elias to join this corporate retreat at a luxury Egyptian resort.

"It's the heat," Elias said.

"It's the whiskey," Marcus countered, settling into the lounge chair beside him. "And whatever's eating you. Again."

The waiter appeared with their dinner orders. Elias's plate featured a bed of wilted **spinach** beneath grilled fish—some pretentious deconstruction of a classic dish. Mara would have mocked it mercilessly. She'd made real food, the kind that filled kitchens with warmth and laughter and arguments about whether garlic belonged in everything.

"The management meeting today," Marcus said, picking at his lamb. "The VP gave us that whole speech about being adaptable. Like we're supposed to be mythical creatures answering riddles or become stone."

"Sphinx imagery, really?"

"I'm serious, El. You've been half-present for months. Ever since the promotion fell through."

Elias watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the pool in impossible colors. "It wasn't the promotion."

"Then what?"

He remembered the argument they'd had before she died—something trivial about dinner plans, now forever unresolved. Some answers were never coming. "What's the point, Marcus? We work ourselves to death answering everyone else's riddles, and for what?"

Marcus set down his fork. "You think I don't ask myself that? After Sarah left? But here's the thing—we're still here. The sphinx doesn't actually eat anyone who gets it wrong. We just... keep going."

Elias removed Mara's hat, studying the frayed brim. "Some days, that's the terrifying part."

"Yeah," Marcus said softly. "But some days, it's the only part that matters."

The waiter refilled their wine glasses. Beyond the pool, the desert night bloomed with stars, silent and indifferent and beautiful. Elias placed the hat on the table between them, finally ready to hear the answer that had been there all along.