Our eyes locked.
My pulsespiked.
I felt stupid, like I should have adapted to this by now. "You're probably right."
He stared up at me for a long moment, then got to his feet and walked over, stopping just a couple of inches away, suddenly in my space, a wall of muscle and secrets. My heart was going crazy in my chest. I didn't know why I'd never noticed the height difference between us, but now that he stood so close, I realized he was easily more than half a foot taller than me.
I knew that I should have felt intimidated by this. Because I had been just moments ago when I saw that the bedroom door didn't lock. But the closer he was, the less concerned I became.
"You have nothing to be scared of," he husked out, holding my gaze. His voice sounded thick and a little strange. Like he was having a hard time keeping it under control or pushing the words out.
"I'm not scared," I protested.Well, maybe a little.
"I know you're concerned that there's no lock on the bedroom door," he said, as if reading my mind. "But I'm not going to hurt you, Kimmy."
My stomach flipped at the sound of my name, and every hair on my arms stood up. I couldn't talk, my own throat suddenly tight. I could feel something warm and reassuring spreading through my body. Even though I had no idea who he really was. It was the weirdest thing.
"Please get some rest," he said softly. "We have to wake up early."
I nodded and walked to the bedroom before my mouth started spilling some nonsense. I shut the door behind me, stripped off my clothes, and changed into my pajamas. Then I curled up under the too-crisp sheets, and stared at the dark, smelling the pillows, until I caught myself on the thought that even if he came in here right now, I wouldn't have minded.
34 kimmy
I watched the world waking up in the side mirror as we drove to Margaret's place. The streets filled with strip malls and slouching trees were softening in the predawn blur. There were hardly any other cars at this hour, not in this neighborhood. Just us—me in the passenger seat, him in the driver's.
"What happened to your bike?" I asked.
"It would be hard to transport your things on a bike without suspicion," Seven supplied. "It's safer to use a car for now."
"Right." I glanced at the back seat where my duffel bag and my laptop sat.
We didn't talk after. Instead, I listened to the whirr of the tires and the squeal of his glove against the wheel as he flexed his hand at every intersection. The radio was off. The silence buzzed with a tension that was, somehow, more comforting than any playlist or morning show could have been.
He wore the same clothes he did last night—leather jacket I'd returned to him over the hoodie, dark jeans, boots, the bandana. Only the eyes were visible, gray and sharp, like the tip of a nail right before it sunk.
Margaret's place came into view, and he pulled to the curb, two houses early. It was a calculated stop—perfect sight lines, but not so close as to draw attention.
"I'll stay in the car," he said, his eyes flicked to the rearview, then to me, then to the house. I could tell he was operating on some higher alert setting. He had a slight frown just above the bridge of his nose.
He didn't shut off the engine. His hand hovered over the gear lever, never quite settling. The other curled around the steering wheel, not white-knuckled, but poised. His entire body was a study in contradiction—perfectly still, yet bristling with readiness.
"I'll try to be quick," I promised as I popped the door open and stepped out. The early morning cold hit like a slap. I zipped my jacket to the chin and quickly walked to Margaret's house.
From the porch, I glanced back.
He was still there, in the car, face shadowed by the visor of his cap and the angle of the rising sun. I could see only the vague line of his head and the way the bandana shaped itself over the bridge of his nose. But he was watching me. Not just watching—tracking. If a sniper scope had a human equivalent, it was those eyes. I should have felt something along the lines of self-preservation. Instead, I felt…excited.
Was my mind playing tricks on me? Or was it him?
I shook it off. No time to explore the complexities of my brain.
I knocked first, then let myself in. The door was unlocked, just as I'd expected.
"Mom, you really need to start locking your door for the night," I called, heading for the kitchen.
"I was waiting for you, dear," she replied. "It was locked overnight."
The kettle was on when I entered and already whistling.
