“Get some rest,” I tell her instead.
She gives me an almost-smile. “You too, boss.”
The word feels wrong coming from her mouth. Too formal. Too careful. I leave before I start reading into it.
The hallway outside is dimmer than the room, the light from the narrow window at the end slanting across the floor. A draft curls under the baseboards, carrying with it the faint sounds of life from downstairs—voices, a radio, the clatter of dishes.
I walk slowly past the doors.
Cassandra’s room: closed, the faint murmur of a phone conversation leaking through.
A spare room: empty, bed made.
Xavier’s room: door half open, bed unmade, a tangled mess I’m not ready to look at.
Asher’s: closed, silence heavy behind it.
Then Talia’s room.
The door is almost shut, just enough of a gap for light to spill into the hall in a pale stripe. I wouldn’t have stopped if I hadn’t heard it.
Her voice.
Low, urgent. Frustrated.
I pause, breath catching, and lean in just enough that I can hear the words, careful not to let the floorboard beneath me creak.
“Kill, come on,” she whispers.
Kill.
Not Killian, not fully. But I’ve heard enough men shorten his name that my heart misses a beat.
There’s a reply, muffled by the phone speaker, too soft for me to catch. Talia’s breath stutters.
“This is… this is a lot,” she says, voice cracking just slightly. “I told you I’d help but I didn’t think you meant?—”
Another murmur.
Her laugh is brittle. “Fine. For you. Fine.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
For you.
She’s not arguing with some boy from school about homework. This isn’t someone begging her to sneak out past Asher’s rules. This is Talia negotiating with a voice on the other end of the line about something that sounds like duty. Obligation. A task she doesn’t want to do but will anyway.
“Just—” she says softly, “just tell me you’ll keep your side of the deal.”
I feel suddenly, acutely, horribly exposed standing there in the hall. Like if I stay a second longer, she’ll hear my heart pounding through the door.
A floorboard inside her room creaks.
She’s moving.
Coming closer.
I jerk backward, panic sparking through my limbs. My pulse roars in my ears as I turn and move, trying to keep my pace slow enough not to sound like I’m running while every instinct screams at me to bolt.
