Page 64 of Jaded

I don’t get up. Don’t look out the window. I already know.

Sebastian has never been subtle, but he’s never been careless either. His recklessness is calculated. It’s been earned through years of surviving the kinds of situations other people stumble blindly into. Parties, fights, messes he should’ve left alone, but didn’t. That’s how he learned where the edges are. How close you can get before you’re in too deep.

I haven’t seen him in weeks, not really. The last time we spoke face-to-face was when I caught him lurking in the stairwell like the angel of death. He hasn’t tried to call or text. He’s only been present when I needed him, at the hotel. Honestly, that tells me more than a conversation would.

It means something’s unresolved.

Or worse, something is going on behind the scenes that he hasn’t told me yet.

Arden shifts against me, exhaling softly, and I tighten my arm around her. It’s almost a reflex now. Whatever Sebastian is up to can stay out there with him. Tonight, my job is here.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. Time blurs when you’re the only one awake in the middle of the night. That’s when I hear it. Not on the street this time; at the door.

Not a knock. Not footsteps.

Just the faintest sound of a scrape against wood. So soft it would go undetected under normal circumstances. But tonight isn’t normal, and I’m on high alert.

I ease Arden gently back against the cushions, careful not to wake her, and stand. Every muscle in my body is already primed as I move toward the door. I pause, pressing my ear to the door to listen again.Nothing. I glance through the peephole. The hallway is empty and entirely too still.

I open the door anyway, stepping out into the hall. I turn to scan the hallway leading to the elevator. Then, I turn around, inspecting the stairwell longer than necessary. Still nothing.

For the first time tonight, I wonder if I should get some sleep. Hearing noises isn’t exactly a good sign.

As I turn back toward the door, something catches my eye that I don’t remember seeing before. A single folded piece of paper on the floor. I lean down to pick it up, and make my way back through the door, locking the deadbolt before unfolding it.

There, scrawled across the paper in red ink, are five simple words: