"Maybe," I manage. "Goodnight."
I don't look back as I leave the café. But I feel her watching me the entire way out the door.
The walk back to the compound feels longer than before.
Darker.
The cicadas have gone quiet, and the only sound is my footsteps on the gravel shoulder and the distant rumble of traffic on the highway.
Every rustle in the trees makes me jump. Every shadow seems to move in my peripheral vision.
I keep thinking about the way Sol looked at me.
Like she knew me.
Like she'd been waiting for me.
By the time I slip back into the basement, my heart is pounding.
RJ is still asleep, exactly where I left him.
The moonlight filtering through the window well illuminates his face—peaceful, unguarded in a way he never is when he's awake.
I crawl into bed beside him, pressing close to his warmth, and try to shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.
He murmurs something in his sleep and pulls me closer, his arm tightening around my waist. Even unconscious, he's protecting me.
I bury my face in his chest and try to convince myself I'm safe.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
RJ
Something wakes me in the gray hours before dawn.
I reach for Dalla automatically, the way I've done every morning since we started sharing this bed.
My hand finds warm skin, the soft curve of her hip, and I relax.
She's here. She's safe, but something's off.
I lie still, listening.
The basement is quiet.
The clubhouse above is silent.
No sounds of disturbance, no alarms, nothing that should have pulled me from sleep.
Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and Dalla's steady breathing beside me.
Then I see it.
On the nightstand, next to Dalla's phone, there's a paper coffee cup.
The logo is familiar—that little café about a mile down the road, the one I've passed on perimeter checks.
