Cabinet doors shifting. A soft scrape of ceramic. Water running somewhere distant.
Wolfe was up.
And he hadn’t come to get me.
I brushed my teeth with the spare brush in the bathroom drawer. Pulled my hair into something that looked less like panic. Found a clean T-shirt. An old one of mine folded on the chair.
I didn’t know if he left it there. I didn’t ask. I stepped out into the hall and didn’t breathe until I saw the kitchen light.
He was there. At the island. Reading something on his phone like he always did, keeping his focus on anywhere else while Iwas around. One hand resting on the countertop like he’d been standing there for hours.
The coffee machine was untouched. So was the second mug. I walked in. Careful. Barefoot. Every step quiet like it might be the one that made him look up.
He didn’t. I waited. Not sure if I should sit. Speak. Bow. I just stood there. Until finally—he moved. Set the phone down. Lifted his eyes. And said?—
“Wear something clean.”
A pause.
“You have ten minutes.”
I didn’t ask where we were going. Didn’t ask what he meant. Just nodded once and backed out of the room like I’d stepped into something I didn’t know how to survive yet.
Back in the box room, I moved quickly. Not out of urgency. Out of fear. I peeled off the hoodie. My skin flinched where it stuck. The shirt beneath it was damp with sweat, sleep, shame.
I stripped in silence. Found a long black dress folded at the base of the bed. I hadn’t put it there.Which meant he had.
It wasn’t a threat. It was a reminder. That I still wore what he gave me.And nothing else.
I pulled the dress over my head. Winced as the fabric brushed my shoulder. The bruises were fading, but they still felt fresh. Like the memory hadn’t moved on even if the skin had.
I stepped out into the hall. The lights were brighter now. Sunlight bleeding in through the living room windows. It made everything sharper.Clearer.Like the apartment was watching. Like it remembered who I used to be here. And who I wasn’t anymore.
I hesitated when I passed his bedroom. The door was cracked. Just enough. I didn’t mean to stop. But I did. There was no sound inside. No sign of movement. But I could feelhim in the room. Not physically. Just… present. Like he’d left something in there that could still hurt me.
I kept walking. To the end of the hall. Where the door was open. The office. The study. The place I wasn’t allowed to touch.
He was there. Sitting in the leather chair behind the desk. The screen of his tablet glowing faintly beside a glass of water. He didn’t speak when I stepped inside. Just looked at me once. Then nodded at the chair in front of him.
I sat.
Slow.
Careful.
He waited.
And I knew?—
This wasn’t a conversation.
This was a sentence being handed down.
I just didn’t know the name of the crime.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. Just opened the drawer beside him. Slow. Deliberate. Like he wasn’t pulling out a weapon, but something worse.
The contents weren’t hidden. They were arranged. My phone. My ring. A flash drive. All laid out like offerings. Like relics.Like proof.
