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Nothing.

No shouts.

No rush of men.

No chaos.

Just rain pouring over all of it.

Just the shape of him on the dock.

Just me standing above the wrong ending to something I still don’t fully understand.

The room snaps back into place around me. My hand is braced on the desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles.

I straighten slowly.

Last night in bed, Delaney asked me nothing that mattered aloud. Her body asked everything. Her mouth. Her hands. The way she opened for me.

A floorboard creaks outside.

I move before the sound finishes. I unlock the door again and walk quietly down the hall.

At the far end of the hall, the stairwell door swings softly on its hinge.

Someone was just here.

I take the stairs two at a time. Push through the lobby. Cold air slams into me as I hit the street.

A figure cuts across the far end of the block. A male in a dark hoodie, running.

I go after him.

He glances back once, sees me gaining, and bolts harder. He knows these streets or he’s been told where to go. He hooks left into a narrow alley between two brick buildings.

I follow.

The alley reeks of damp concrete and old trash. I slow just enough to listen.

A scrape.

Then silence.

I keep moving, but I find nothing. Just a chain-link gate at the far end, rattling faintly on its latch.

He’s gone.

Or he was never alone.

Fuck. I left Delaney alone with an unlocked door.

I race back.

By the time I reenter Delaney’s apartment, my pulse has settled. My body has not.

She’s still asleep.

Still on her side.