“No,” I whisper. “No, no—how did he?—”
“I don’t know,” Damien says, already strapping his gun to his back.
His voice is wrong.
Not calm.
Not angry.
Uncertain.
That scares me more than anything.
He moves toward the door.
I grab his arm.
“Don’t open it.”
He pauses.
Looks at me.
And then says something that feels like ice in my bloodstream.
“He didn’t leave it for you.”
My pulse kicks.
“What?”
“He didn’t leave it for you, Raven.”
He unbolts the door.
Swings it open?—
The hall is empty.
Not a sound.
Not a breath.
The building is dead quiet.
He kneels.
Lifts the package with gloved hands.
Brings it inside.
Closes and locks the door.
I stand frozen near the couch as he unties the ribbon and peels back the cloth.
What’s inside isn’t violent.
It’s not even grotesque.
