Deep. Sleep-rough. Suspicious.
Another knock.
“Are you alright?”
I inhale sharply and wipe my face with trembling fingers, praying to whatever god is listening that he can’t hear how violently my pulse is pounding.
I force my voice steady.
“Yeah,” I manage. “I’m fine.”
The lie tastes like iron.
The letters are hidden.
The door is locked.
The bathroom is spotless again.
On the counter, only my glass of water remains.
No evidence.
No trace.
No ghost.
Except the one still sitting in my chest.
Scarlett
Iopen the bathroom door slowly, like the hallway might bite.
The house feels different now.
Like the walls are listening.
Like the shadows remember.
Noah is sitting up in bed, one hand braced on the mattress, eyes still heavy with sleep but sharpened with suspicion.
It hits me how vulnerable he looks right then—shirtless, hair mussed, covers tangled around his waist.
Human.
Soft.
Unaware.
Unaware of the man who stood beside him last night.
Unaware of the danger soaking into the floorboards.
Unaware of the letters pressed into a hiding place less than ten feet away.
He blinks at me slowly. “Scarlett? You were gone a while.”
My heartbeat jumps.
