At the top, there is a second sitting room, a hallway of closed doors. Beckett and Silas start checking rooms. I move down the hall slowly until I reach a particular door.
I stop.
There's something in the air. Faint. Soft. Something that shouldn't have a scent but does anyway.
Beckett appears at my shoulder. I nod toward the door. He steps back.
The knob turns without resistance. It’s unlocked.
Perfect.
The room opens up like something out of a different world — wide and soft-lit by moonlight, a four-poster bed at the center draped in white linen. Everything silver and still.
And there she is.
Beckett and Silas move immediately to the desk, the drawers, the bags. Methodical. Quiet.
I walk toward the bed.
Adela’s on her side, one hand tucked beneath her pillow, dark hair spilled across white. Her breathing is slow and even. She looks like she hasn't moved in hours.
I stop when my legs touch the mattress frame, and I look down at her.
So fucking delicate.
So breakable.
I reach out slowly and trace the curve of her bottom lip with one gloved fingertip. She inhales sharply. I go still, watching her face. Every muscle in me suspended.
I hold my breath. If she opens her eyes, everything changes.
She doesn't. Her breathing settles back into its rhythm.
I lift the edge of the blanket carefully. The same red pajamas. Little cherries. I almost grin.
Then I notice a glint around her throat –– a pink Swarovski pendant catching the moonlight like a tiny, captured star.
It looks like something special.
I pull out my pliers.
I lean over her slowly, holding every breath in my body, and position the tool around the chain. I press firmly, and one side falls. I stare at her face while I do it — daring her, almost, to wake up.
She doesn't.
My fingers close around the pendant and draw it out from beneath her, inch by inch, until the whole chain pools into my palm.
I straighten and hold it up in the moonlight for a second. Then I slip it into my pocket.
Beckett catches my eye from across the room and shakes his head.
The laptop isn't here.
We search everything — under the bed, in the closet, through every bag. Careful. Thorough. We put everything back exactly as we found it.
Nothing.
We stand in silence for a moment, the three of us, looking at each other in the dark. I glance back at the bed one last time. The sleeping girl who has no idea how close she came tonight. The pendant presses warm against my thigh through the fabric of my pocket. I shouldn't have taken it.
