Merlot's cell phone buzzed against the tabletop, a harsh, vibrating rattle that shattered the silence of the room. He snatched it up, pressing it to his ear.
"Finding out you were fiction wouldn't be the worst thing, would it?"
"Lemmony!" Merlot gasped, his grip tightening on the plastic. "How did you get this number?"
"You gave it to me. At the restaurant."
"Oh—that." A flush of heat hit his face. "That was a mistake. I thought you were into me—"
"I only had eyes for Beatrice," Lemmony said flatly. "Meeting you felt like walking into the wrong story."
"I'm not a story someone else wrote!" Merlot snapped, voice cracking with anger.
"Denial doesn't change anything. At least I know what I am. A character borrowed from another story."
"No, you're not a character—"
"Merlot." Lemmony's voice lowered. "You told me you hear a voice in your head. Listen to it."
A cold click ended the call, locking Merlot back inside his head.