“How’s training so far?”
I keep walking.
Hood up.
Head down.
Face blank.
No comments.
Inside, it hits me how much I hate this part. Not the attention, that’s whatever. It’s the feeling of being tracked. Plotted. Followed.
Somebody leaked that I was staying here.
I’m calling my agent in the morning.
No—tonight.
He’s going to find out who opened their mouth, and then he’s going to close it for good.
The lobby is warm and too bright. I step inside, exhaling.
Frankie stands near the lifts with the balaclava now tucked in her hoodie pocket, pretending to scroll her phone.
Her eyes flick up, meeting mine.
I walk toward her.
“Smooth,” I murmur.
“You doubted me?”
“Likkle bit.”
We step into the lift, and I press the button for my floor. Doors slide shut, sealing us away from the noise.
She exhales, shoulders finally dropping. “That was… kinda fun.”
I lean against the rail, watching her. “Could be the adrenaline.”
“True.”
The lift hums upward. She looks everywhere but at me.
And I look only at her.
Before I forget, I pull my phone from my pocket.
“Hold up,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Let me call my agent before this pisses me off more than it already has.”
I scroll, tap, lift the phone to my ear.
He answers on the second ring, chipper.
“Titan! Hell of a game?—”
“Yeah,” I cut in, voice flat. “Save it.”
