I sat frozen on the couch, book still in my hands, waiting for my eyes to adjust. They didn't. There was nothing to adjust to—no streetlights visible through the rain-streaked windows, no distant glow of the city. The whole block must have lost power.
The apartment was silent except for the rain.
Slowly, carefully, I set the book aside and felt my way toward the kitchen. Vance kept a flashlight in the drawer by the sink. I'd organized that drawer a few days ago. I knew exactly where everything was.
My shin hit the coffee table before I found the kitchen. I bit back a curse, hobbling forward with my hands outstretched. The kitchen counter was cold under my palms. I felt my way along it until I found the drawer handle.
The flashlight beam cut through the darkness, unnaturally bright after the blackout. I swept it across the apartment; everything looked strange in the harsh white light. Shadowed. Unfamiliar. Like I was seeing someone else's home for the first time.
The emergency candles were where I'd put them after the dinner incident. I lit three, placed them on the coffee table, and settled onto the couch to wait.
Vance didn't come home.
An hour passed. Then two. The storm raged outside, rain sheeting down the windows and thunder rolling through the valley like artillery fire. I checked the old flip phone Vance had given me—a prepaid burner he'd picked up so I could reach him without risking my real phone being tracked. The battery was fine, but there was no signal. The storm must have knocked out the cell towers.
I wasn't worried. I wasn't. The hotel was dealing with the power outage. Backup systems, probably, and guest emergencies. Vance had responsibilities.
But my mind wouldn't stop spiraling.
What if something happened?
The thought arrived uninvited, settling into my chest like ice.
What if he doesn't come back?
I knew it was irrational. I knew the storm would pass, the power would return, and Vance would walk through that door as he always did. But the darkness pressed in, the silence was too loud, and my mind kept finding things to fear.
What if he decides this is too much trouble?
That was the real fear. The one I'd been carrying since the beginning.
I was a complication. A runaway rich kid with no money, no plan, and no skills beyond folding napkins and reorganizing kitchen drawers. Vance had taken me in out of kindness, but kindness had limits. Everyone's kindness had limits.
Sitting here in the dark, in an apartment that wasn't mine, waiting for someone who might not come—I felt more alone than I had since the wedding.
The door opened at 10:36 PM.
I was curled on the couch by then, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around myself. The candles were flickering low.I hadn't moved to get more. I hadn't been able to make myself move at all.
Footsteps. A flashlight beam. Then Vance's voice, sharp with concern.
"Tobias?"
I looked up.
He was silhouetted in the doorway, rain dripping from his jacket, flashlight in hand. Water pooled on the floor around his boots. His face was in shadow, but I could hear the tension in his voice.
"You okay?"
"Fine." The word came out rough, unconvincing. "Just waiting."
He closed the door behind him, shedding his wet jacket. The flashlight beam swept the room, catching the low candles, my curled position on the couch, and the book I hadn't touched in hours.
He saw too much. He always saw too much.
"You're not fine."
"I am."
