He lifted his gaze. “Reo says the Scales’ hallway footage was wiped clean too, during the same window of time. Yet, other camera areas were kept.”
“So. . .that definitely points to the spy coming in and out of here.”
Hiro put his phone up. “And whoever did it knew exactly what to delete.”
Somewhere deeper in the suite, a soft mechanical whir pulsed—a camera adjusting? A vent shifting?
Or something else entirely?
I couldn’t tell. That uncertainty tightened around my ribs like a slow-moving fist. A cold ripple dragged itself down my spine.
I glanced back at the cameras—silent, dark, watching everything.
“Great,” I muttered. “Let’s hope the new people in the security room aren’t spies keeping tabs on us because if we find the right thing. . .they might come down here and kill us before we can report it.”
Hiro didn’t smile. “Anyone coming for you dies first. I can kill four men before you take your next breath. Their blood won’t even have time to cool.”
I blinked.
“You’re safe, Nyomi. They’re the ones who should worry.”
“Okay.”
The air still felt too charged, too alert.
I continued on.
But, are we sure no one is in here?
The silence didn’t feel empty—it feltoccupied.Like someone stood just out of sight, listening, cataloging each breath we took.
For some reason, I felt like Goldilocks sneaking into the three bears' cabin.
Except in the original story, Goldilocks had stumbled upon the cottage by accident—lost in the woods, hungry, innocent in her trespassing.
I was here with intent. Camera ready. Mission clear. About to rifle through the belongings of three women.
Besides, Goldilocks had been a little blonde white girl.
Of course she had.
Only a white girl would see an unfamiliar house in the woods and think,I'll just let myself in. Try the porridge. Test the chairs. Sleep in the beds.That level of false entitlement—that assumption of safety and welcome—wasn't available to everyone.
A Black girl would've seen that cottage and kept walking.
Would've thought:That's not mine. Those aren't my people. If I go in there and they come home, I'm not getting the benefit of the doubt.
She would've stayed hungry.
Stayed tired.
Kept moving through that forest until she found her own way out.
And then there would've been no story at all.
I stared at those three nameplates in their elegant script. Someone had chosen that font—someone who cared about aesthetic perfection even in the smallest details.
A second later, I felt Hiro’s attention shift toward me, like he was cataloging the exact way I was assessing the space.
