I stood there anyway, staring at it, waiting for the feeling to pass.
It didn’t.
I pulled out my phone. Adrian’s name sat there in my messages—three texts about schedules and locations. Neutral. Harmless. Nothing that could get me into trouble.
My thumb hovered.
I could type something small. Something safe. Something that would let me pretend this was restlessness and not want.
I didn’t type.
I didn’t put the phone down either.
I stood there in the dark, holding it, feeling the urge coil tighter instead of loosening—like whatever I’d fixed tonight had shifted somewhere else.
The chair was solid. The apartment was quiet.
And I had no idea what would happen if I moved.
Chapter six
Adrian
Iwoke thinking about his hands.
Not a useful or professional thought. Still, there it was, waiting for me before I'd opened my eyes—the image of Pickle's fingers wrapped around that plastic cup at The Drop, gesturing while he talked, nearly knocking over someone's beer. They'd gone still, just once, when our knees almost touched under the table.
I stared at the ceiling. The hotel room was gray with early light, early snow pressing against the window in soft, persistent layers. The mini-fridge hummed at an irritating frequency.
My flight was in nine hours.
I should have been packing. I needed to review footage, organize files, and draft the preliminary notes Naomi would want by Monday. Instead, I lay there thinking about what I'd learned about Noah Piatkowski in four days.
His energy shifted when he thought no one was watching. I thought about how he'd pulled Heath into the group last night. I remembered him fixating on the napkin holders, chair, and Zamboni blade.
He'd looked at me in the booth like I was a door he wasn't sure he was allowed to open.
Stop.
I sat up. Reaching for my phone, I intended to check my flight confirmation. I placed a call instead.
Naomi picked up on the third ring. "It's six in the morning, Adrian."
"I know."
"On a Saturday."
"I need two more days."
Silence. I heard her shifting—probably reaching for coffee, because Naomi didn't function without it, and I'd committed a cardinal sin by calling before she'd had any.
"You said three to five," she said finally. "You've had four, and your flight is today. You told me yesterday you had what you needed."
"I thought I did."
"And now?"
I glanced at the snow accumulating on the windowsill. Thought about how to explain in a way that sounded like a strategy.
