Page 100 of Shadow

He checked his watch. Five thirty a.m.

Dawn bled further through the gap in the curtains. The heater under the window clicked on with a rattle, blowing lukewarm air that smelled of dust.

Asher stood. Moved to the window. Pulled the curtain back slightly—just enough to scan the parking lot. Their car and one other. Highway in the distance, where an early semi rumbled past. Creek rushing over rocks. Pine trees dark against lightening sky.

No movement. No threats.

Yet.

But the syndicate would find them, he knew it in his bones.

Unless…unless they made the syndicate think they were already dead.

Asher turned from the window. His bare feet crossed the worn carpet, thin enough he could feel the concrete underneath. Moved to the bathroom. Flipped on the light.

The harsh glare did nothing to help his cause. He looked…haggard. Dark circles carved deep under his eyes, his chest still bare. He reached for his Henley—still damp. Cold. Nice.

He splashed water on his face. Cold. Sharp. The pipes groaned.

Then he checked the bandages. The one on his ribs was clean. No bleeding through. The one on his forearm had a small red spot—penny-sized—but nothing concerning. Daphne had done good work.

Asher grabbed the hair dryer and poured heat on his shirt, then finally worked it on.

Everything hurt, but everything worked. So he should probably be thanking God for that.

Weird—he hadn’t thought about God in years. He blamed the conversation with Daphne from that first night. For a while, believing that God cared helped. Until my sister died. And that sort of felt like a betrayal…

It was possible he’d betrayed God right back, so maybe they were even.

Except…these past three weeks had felt a little like a fresh start. Or at least a truce. A sort of sunshine had poured into his life, chased away a few shadows.

Like God might not have forgotten him.

Or even, maybe, had forgiven him.

Until last night, of course.

A knock on the adjoining door.

Asher moved to it. “Yeah?”

“It’s me.” Daphne’s voice came through the thin door. Soft, and his stupid heart kicked up. “I have a plan.”

He opened the door.

Daphne stood in the doorway, dressed in black tactical pants and a black Henley. Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Eyes alert, despite the early hour—and missing nothing. She’d probably been awake all night too. A thermos of coffee sat on the dresser behind her, steam rising from the open top.

“Morning,” Asher said. “Where’d you get the duds?”

“Go bag, in my trunk.”

“Smart. I left mine in the closet.”

She nodded. “We’ll get you new clothes. Can we talk?”

He stepped aside. She moved past him, her shoulder not quite brushing his—careful, deliberate distance. The smell of coffee and soap followed her in.

Behind her, through the connecting door, Destiny stood by the window in the other room. One hand braced against the wall. Her bathrobe hung loose on her frame, posture weaker than yesterday. Shoulders sagging. Skin pale, even in the dim light. Dark circles under her eyes matched everyone else’s.