But the wrong kind of nothing. The kind that felt like a held breath.
Finally, Hiro’s voice came low from inside the room. “It’s safe. Come in.”
I stepped across the threshold with my pulse still hammering.
This all felt so weird. Walking into someone's bedroom without them knowing it, was trespassing. This was a place she dreamed in, cried in, stared at the ceilings, probably touched herself in here, and hid parts of herself she didn’t let anyone see.
Crossing that doorway felt like stealing several of her confessions.
I scanned the space.
Even with the lights on, the air felt heavy—charged with the possibility of someone having been here moments before. Hiro kept his gun out, scanning every corner until he was satisfied. Only then did he lower it, though he didn’t holster it yet.
“Tonight, you never enter a room first, especially in this suite.”
“Okay, Hiro.”
He’s getting that feeling I am too. . .that someone is around us.
I kept imagining the spy watching us on some hidden monitor, waiting for us to find the wrong thing—then coming down the hall with a knife or a silenced gun.
“Alright. Let’s start.” But even as I walked forward, I kept glancing at the doorway, half-expecting someone to appear in it.
Because for the first time since arriving on this island, the danger wasn’t theoretical.
It was in the walls.
In the erased footage.
In the overhead thump.
And now, standing in Yuki’s room, Hiro’s gun still drawn—I realized the spy might not be afraid to come at us at all.
My mind clicked into that space I’d lived in my whole career—where curiosity pressed its heel against fear and whispered,Look closer.
Hiro watched me. “What do you see in here so far?”
“This is a world of gray, but not the dreary kind.”
The walls were a gentle dove-gray, the bedspread a slightly darker charcoal, with a subtle stitched pattern of clouds. A plush rug in muted ash spread underfoot, swallowing the sound of our steps.
The room smelled faintly of jasmine and fresh laundry.
The bed sat against the left wall, probably positioned that way so the first thing Yuki would see each morning was the cliff and ocean. It surely had a perfect view.
A writing desk claimed the space beneath that window, probably angled to catch afternoon light.
Bookshelves lined an entire wall, floor-to-ceiling, the wood stained a pale cool brown. Every shelf was meticulously organized: hardcovers and paperbacks lined up by height and subject, no book out of place.
I lifted my phone and snapped a slow pan. "These are interesting selections. What do you think about the books she chose to put on her shelf?"
Hiro took them in. "These are Kenji's favorites.”
“Are you sure?”
"Every single one."
I looked again, this time with that lens.
