This room is different.
Rich dark wood lines the walls, polished and warm. Heavy drapes frame the glowing city beyond the windows, Las Vegas burning in the distance like a restless heartbeat. The bed dominates the space—far too large for one person, its sheets crisp and untouched. Beyond it, a large bath steams softly, heat already fogging the glass.
This room feels prepared.
My stomach tightens with unease.
“Bathe,” Johnathon says evenly. “There’s a robe. Clothes will come. Eat if you want. It’s under a cloche by the coffee table.”
He pauses, just long enough for the weight of his next words to settle.
“I’ll have information about Trey afterward. Then we talk.”
Klause lets out a long sigh beside me.
Johnathon’s gaze snaps to him.
“Kibble will be up too,” he adds flatly. “There’ll be a sack brought up shortly.”
That’s it.
“Fucking mutts.”
There he is again—cruelty slipping out for no reason at all, like it’s his native language.
I don’t thank him. I don’t ask questions.
I simply call my dogs to my side and close the door.
The bath fills quickly, steam rising to warm the chilled parts of me I didn’t realize were shaking. I undress without looking at myself, unwilling to see the girl I’ve become in the mirror. But before I can step toward the tub, a sudden wave of nausea rolls through me so violently it steals the air from my lungs.
My hand flies to my mouth.
“Oh—”
I barely make it to the toilet in time, dropping to my knees as sickness surges up without warning, my body heaving as though it is trying to purge every ounce of fear and grief that has lived inside me these past weeks.
When it passes, it leaves me trembling.
I rest my forehead against the cool porcelain, breathing slowly, trying to steady myself while the room tilts slightly around me.
When I sink into the water, the heat presses against my skin.
Artemis stretches across the doorway like a silent sentinel. Klause sits just beyond her, eyes fixed on the hallway.
The bubbles cling to my arms and chest like a fragile barrier between me and everything that’s happening.
My hand drifts slowly to my stomach.
The thought comes unbidden, soft and devastating in its tenderness.
What if there’s something ofhimstill with me?
Not a memory. Not a ghost.
Something living. Something stubborn and strong like Trey. A piece of him that refused to leave me behind.
The idea tightens my chest until it hurts to breathe.
