Then fury hits hot and fast.
Of course it’s unlocked.
Of course she leaves her fucking door unsecured in a building where any idiot with hands can turn a knob and walk right in. No alarm. No deadbolt. No common sense. This is exactly why she shouldn’t be here. This little shoebox isn’t safe. This entire fucking place is a liability.
I push inside.
“Ayla—”
The word dies in my throat. Chair in the middle of the kitchen.
Broken.
Rope on the floor.
The whole apartment goes strange around me after that. Too still. Too quiet. Like the air changed while I was standing in the doorway and now I’m breathing something wrong.
My body moves before my head catches up.
Bedroom.
Empty.
Sheets untouched.
No sign of her.
Then I see it. Bathroom door. Closed.
Every muscle in me locks so tight it hurts.
I cross the apartment fast and shove the door open.
She’s in the tub. Under the water.
My first reaction is irritation so sharp it almost feels normal.
Of course.
Of course she’s in here hiding from me like a brat.
I lean one shoulder against the frame and wait for her to come up. Wait for that sputtering inhale. That startled look. That glare she’ll throw at me like I’m the problem for finding her.
I’m ready for it.
Almost want it.
Come on, little liar.
Come up.
The water stays still.
Something cold slides down my spine.
I straighten off the frame. Still nothing.
Then my eyes catch everything at once, the angle of her body, the limp drift of her hair in the water, the chair outside, the rope on the floor—
