"Apologies," he says calmly. "The threat has been neutralized."
"Right." Her voice is faint. "That's... good."
I should say something. Explain. Smooth this over.
Instead, I giggle.
High-pitched and unhinged, the sound of someone whose brain has fully abandoned ship and left only hysteria behind.
Kruk glances down at me.
Brie's smile becomes even tighter.
"So," she says brightly, pushing two key cards across the desk. "Room 304. Top floor. You'll take the main elevator to the third level, turn left, and it's the last door on the right. Checkout is at eleven, breakfast is served from six to ten in the main dining room, and if you need anything at all, just dial zero from your room phone."
I reach out and take the key cards from the polished surface of the desk, my fingers trembling so badly that I nearly drop them before I can get a proper grip. The plastic feels smooth and cool against my clammy palms.
"Thank you," I managed to force out, my voice coming out strangled and several octaves higher than normal. "We really appreciate it. So much. The hospitality has been just... incredible. Really top-notch."
I'm babbling now. I can hear myself doing it and I still can't stop.
Brie's smile has taken on the quality of someone who's being held hostage and is trying to signal for help with her eyes. "Enjoy your stay," she says, the words crisp and professional despite everything that just happened.
Kruk places his hand on the small of my back, a gesture that's somehow both protective and proprietary, and guides me away from the desk.
We walk toward the elevator bank, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet runner that stretches down the hallway.
Kruk moves with that same steady, ground-eating stride, his presence clearing a path through the other guests like a ship cutting through water. People step aside without even realizing they're doing it, some instinct warning them not to get too close.
I trail behind him, still clutching his arm because letting go feels dangerous somehow, like I'll float away or shatter into a thousand pieces if I'm not anchored to something solid.
The elevator doors slide open. We are alone inside once the doors slide shut.
I look at the key cards in my hand. One says "Lover's Loft" in raised gold lettering. There's a little embossed heart next to the room number.
"A heart-shaped bed," I tell no one in particular.
"Affirmative."
"This is fine. This is totally fine. We're both adults. We can share a heart-shaped bed platonically. People do it all the time."
"Do they?"
"Probably not." I laugh again, that same unhinged sound. "God. This is such a disaster. I'm so sorry. I should've just told Derek the truth, that I'm single and pathetic and still not over him even though he's clearly moved on with someone whoprobably has her life together and doesn't giggle at inappropriate times and?—"
"You are not pathetic."
I blink up at him.
His expression hasn't changed. Still that same calm, immovable intensity.
"You hired protection," he continued. "This is strategic thinking. You identified a threat and took action to neutralize it."
"The threat is my ex-boyfriend being smug at me."
"Psychological warfare is still warfare."
The elevator chimes. Third floor. The doors slide open.
