My door. My key is sitting in the door lock.
I freeze. My heart stutters.
I know I locked it. I remember the way the key clicked when I turned it. I had the key. I pat my pocket and search my bag. It’s not anywhere. I look back at the key sitting in the lock.
I push the door open slowly.
Everything looks the same… at first. And then it doesn’t.
My pillows have been fluffed, but they’re facing the wrong direction. The window’s cracked open just slightly — and I always close that. There’s a notebook on my desk that was tucked in the drawer, now laid out with the page open.
Not vandalized. Not messy. Just… touched.
Like someone went through everything I own and then put it all back just enough to drive me insane.
My breath catches. I walk in. Careful. Slow.
The hoodie I always read in? Gone from my bed.
A necklace I’ve never worn? Sitting neatly on my pillow.
And worst of all—the framed photo strip of me and Maeve… turned face down.
My skin prickles.
Not a single thing is technically damaged. If I report it, they’ll say nothing was stolen. No harm done.
But I know what this is.
This was intentional. They wanted me to know they were here. That they could come back anytime they wanted.
And there would be nothing I could do about it.
I make sure my door is locked.
I sit stiffly on the edge of my bed, phone gripped in both hands. The silence in the room presses down on me, heavier now that I know someone’s been here. Touched my things. Rearranged my world just enough to unsteady it.
I hate how my fingers shake when I open Lucian’s contact.
He answers on the second ring.
“Isobel?”
“Yeah. It’s me,” I say. My voice is too thin. I swallow, trying to thicken it with steel. “I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
I stare down at the turned-over photo of Maeve. Right where someone left it.
“I need another lock. A better one. Something they can’t pick or swipe the key or… whatever. I just—” I stop. Breathe. “I need this room to be mine.”
Lucian’s voice is quiet for a beat. “Did someone break in?”
“Yes,” I say, even though technically… no one would call it that. “Not in a normal way. Nothing’s missing. But someone was in here, and they wanted me to know it. They were deliberate.”
His silence sharpens. I can almost hear him mentally snapping his fingers at someone. Making a list. Fixing it.
“Do you know who did this?”
