“Who are you?”
Was he really named Jack? And if R.A. was dead, like he claimed, why did he wear a dead man’s ring?
A squat safe tucked in the corner of the closet, its digital keypad glowing a patient green. She tried his initials. The letters RA from his ring. Random numbers that meant nothing. Each attempt earned a sharp beep of rejection.
Hopeless. She abandoned it after only a few tries, unwilling to waste time on locked doors when so many others stood open.
The bathroom offered more contradictions. Wrapped soaps lined the drawers in neat rows. Extra toothbrushes, still in their packaging, filled the next drawer. Towels folded with hotel precision. Everything arranged for a guest, nothing touched by habit.
His wet clothes lay in a heap on the heated floor. She crouched and searched the pockets with methodical desperation. Empty. All of them. Not even lint.
The man was a cipher. A ghost in a three-piece suit.
Her gaze settled on the leather toiletry case tucked neatly beside the rolled towels on the vanity. She pulled open the zipper, and his scent wafted from the shadowed contents, intense and recognizable. She dumped the contents, wincing when a glass bottle of shaving oil hit the counter and nearly rolled off the ledge.
“Shit.”
She sorted through the rest. Aftershave balm. Hair trimmers. A nail kit. Tweezers. Eye drops. Over-the-counter painkillers. And one single syringe filled with clear liquid.
“What the hell?” She held the syringe up to the light. It had no prescription markings. Just a cap on both ends and whatever fluid filled the inside.
Daisy removed the sharp metal nail file from the nail kit and shoved everything but the file and syringe back inside the leather case.
Wandering back to the sitting area, she swiped a hunk of cheese without ceremony. Biting into it, her eyes bulged at the sharp flavor. She pressed her fingers to her lips, unsure what to make of it as she chewed.
Ripping open the packet of Paracetamol, she swallowed the two pills and chased them down with water and another piece of cheese. She left the syringe and file hidden under the edge of the tray and moved toward the balcony doors, her feet slowing at the threshold.
Beyond the glass, the grounds stretched in silver and shadow, lit by scattered torches and the cold eye of the moon. And there, far below, the hunt continued. Women darted from the tree line like startled deer, their gowns streaming behind them as men gave chase. Shadowed bodies clustered in alcoves and open fields, moving in hedonistic rhythms that should have shocked her, but the distance allowed her to watch with cold detachment to what others felt below.
Music drifted to her ears. Moans. Laughter. The wet percussion of flesh. A bell tolled loudly from above, and Daisy flinched—not as desensitized as she thought.
Was he out there? Was that where he ran off to?
She searched the shadowed figures again, but none of them resembled him. How was it she could tell him apart from the others so easily? Even before she saw the scars that marked him in a way no other body could mimic, there was something unique about him, something that radiated from his silence and set him apart.
A woman’s scream pierced the night, sharp and sudden, then dissolved into something that might have been pleasure or terror or both. Daisy couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Wasn’t sure there was one.
She backed away from the glass. The balcony held nothing for her but nightmares made of flesh and terrible memories. What if he sent her back out there?
She pulled the door shut and turned the lock with trembling fingers, adding one more barrier between herself and the chaos below. For now, she was safe. And alone.
The bar gleamed in the firelight. Crystal decanters lined the surface, their contents glowing amber and gold. She approached slowly, lifting each stopper, sniffing carefully. Wine. Something clear burned her nostrils. And a half-empty one that looked favored more than all the rest.
She poured a finger into a heavy glass. The scent rose sharp and smoky. She took a tentative sip and sputtered. It tasted like burning leather and regret. She set the glass down with a grimace, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
Her gaze drifted upward, catching on the brass bear mounted to the wall.
He’d touched it. Why?
Daisy stepped closer, her head tilting as she studied the fixture. Just a bear. Brass and without purpose. Just a decoration. Unless it wasn’t just a bear.
She turned, standing directly below it, and scanned the room with new eyes. She could see every corner and every doorway. She looked back at the bear, waving her hand in front of its eyes. When she turned again, she sucked in a breath and then rushed to the table where his phone sat abandoned.
She hurried across the room and snatched it up, her heart hammering against her ribs. The screen blazed to life at her touch, demanding a passcode she didn’t have.
“Damn it.” She tried his initials. R.A. again. Random numbers. The phone locked her out after three attempts, its screen going dark with engineered indifference.
She tossed it aside, frustration burning in her chest.
