“Yeah,” said Boris. “Sure. Have a good day, man.”
“Thanks, you too,” said Jack automatically, turning toward the coffee station.
Boris’s glower was intense enough to burn holes into the back of his suit.
“It’s definitely a time loop,”said the bookstore owner. Jack nodded in agreement. A speck of dust floated past his nose, drifted onto the windowsill, where it landed in a sunbeam that Rainy would’ve approved of.
“Do you have any books about that?”
“Depends. Fiction or nonfiction?”
Jack arrived backat the hotel that afternoon with a satchel stuffed full of notes, a gas station hot dog rattling uncomfortably in his stomach, and a headache. All day, he’d worried after Carla, jumping at every sound, listening for distant sirens, glancing toward the castle like he expected it to erupt into flames. Each time he passed a payphone, his fingers twitched. He knew the number by heart, even if he’d never dialed it before.
But calling would be just as stupid as arriving in person, Jack reminded himself, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets.
Despite his efforts to stay busy, the day dragged on, slow as molasses. He found himself pacing about the library, then back in the church, keeping a healthy distance from the altar and thecrucifix beyond. He drifted past cafes whose aromas filled the streets and felt a pang of longing for home—the takeout place around the corner, the company lunches at the Italian restaurant he’d grown to resent, the vendors selling tacos and crepes and bratwurst. Jack lived on sandwiches and cereal for the most part, with the occasional banana or cup of coffee thrown in, but he’d long taken variety for granted. Now that he’d been reduced to muffins, candy bars, hot dogs, and the occasional sandwich, he absolutely salivated for more.
If all else failed—if Carla didn’t call tonight—Jack could probably share some whisky with Boris. Try to forget the anxiety chewing at him like a pack of wild dogs at a corpse.
But when Jack finally stumbled into the lobby, Boris was gone. In his stead, a single sticky note.Back in five. The handwriting was almost as bad as Carla’s.
Jack busied himself at the coffee station, tearing open sugar packets with slow, methodical precision, and mixing creamer with the reverence of someone in a dairy commercial, hoping Boris would return soon.
There was only so much time he could spend perfecting his coffee. Eventually Jack settled for pacing the lobby, mug in hand.
No one came or went. Only his footsteps pierced the silence.
Had Boris disappeared like this before?
Jack peered out the front windows, into the street. No sign of Boris’s car.
Had he just… left?
It made sense. Boris probably went on break sometimes. Five minutes didn’t necessarily mean five minutes. If Boris’s shift was thirty-six hours long (atleast), then it made sense that he would need to pick up food, or run by the pharmacy, or go home to let his dog out.
But Boris looked sick this morning. The shadows under his eyes were on their way to becoming something like an abyss.
But maybe… The more Jack thought about it, the more he realized—Boris had been off for days. Too wrapped up in his evenings at the castle, Jack hadn’t paid him much attention. Had barely spoken to him.
The signs were all there. Boris had even less enthusiasm than usual. A dead-eyed stare. No interaction whatsoever unless Jack practically forced it. The magazine sat open to the same page—a brunette in an orange bikini, legs wide open on the sand, wind whipping her hair.
He and Boris weren’t friends. Whenever they spoke beyond a few words to each other, Jack had almost certainly initiated the conversation.
Panic knotted in his throat. Something was definitely wrong with Boris.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Carla didn’t call.
Jack sat on the edge of the bed, blaring the news at top volume.
No reports of a mafia shootout. No camera footage of the house on the cliff. Just droning stock reports, the weather, a train delay.
Then he remembered the missing woman from last night and sat bolt upright.
He and Carla hadn’t discussed it. She’d mentioned her plans just as Jack opened his mouth to point out the screen.
