Page 13 of Talk Howly to Me

She pulled on her underwear and bra, then slipped into the jeans and t-shirt with quick efficiency. The familiar ritual of dressing grounded her, reminding her that she'd survived worse situations than this. She'd been uprooted more times than she could count, had started over in new places with nothing but determination and stubbornness.

Focus on one thing at a time.

Sloane laced up her boots and straightened her shoulders, meeting her own gaze in the mirror with steely resolve. "Go to the lobby. Find Ronan and Kozue. Ask for a smaller, cheaper room and whatever job they might have available."

She wouldn't mention that she was running from dangerous people who wouldn't stop hunting her. She wouldn't admit that she had no other options, no backup plan, nowhere else to turn. She certainly wouldn't confess that her entire wardrobe fit in a single duffel bag or that eleven thousand dollars represented everything she owned in the world.

"Just be direct and confident," she told her reflection. "They let you in here looking like a battered survivor last night. Surely they'll give you honest work too."

The pep talk felt hollow, but it was better than dwelling on the alternatives. She grabbed her room key from the nightstand and headed for the door. The hallway beyond stretched in front of her, lined with similar guest room doors and decorated with rustic elegance. Sloane moved toward the main lobby, her fighter's instincts automatically noting exit routes and potential hiding spots as she walked. The lodge felt different in daylight—less mysterious, more welcoming, but no less intimidating in its obvious expense and refinement.

The corridor seemed to stretch forever, punctuated by alcoves displaying local artwork and windows that offered glimpses of the stunning mountain landscape. Her footsteps echoed softly on the hardwood floors, the only sound in the peaceful morning silence. As she approached the lobby, Sloane paused to gather her courage. Whatever happened in the next few minutes would determine whether she had a place to stay or would be back to square one with dwindling resources and nowhere to run.

They helped you last night. They'll help you now.

The thought carried more hope than certainty, but it was enough to propel her forward toward whatever came next.

The lobby of Hale Lodge stretched before Sloane like a postcard come to life—rustic elegance married to mountain grandeur in ways that made her feel simultaneously welcomed and completely out of place. Massive wooden beams soared overhead, supporting a cathedral ceiling that seemed to reach toward the sky itself. Stone fireplaces anchored both ends of the expansive space, their hearths cold now in the morning light but radiating the promise of warmth. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered breathtaking views of the mountain peaks beyond.

This is what wealth looks like, she thought. Real wealth. Not the flashy kind that screams for attention, but the quiet kind that doesn't need to prove anything.

Instead of Ronan's commanding presence or Kozue's warm smile behind the front desk, Sloane found herself face-to-face with a woman who radiated sunshine at seven in the morning. Auburn hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a face dusted with freckles and lit by the most genuinely cheerful smile Sloane had ever encountered. Her green eyes sparkled with unmistakable warmth and curiosity as she looked up from whatever paperwork had been occupying her attention.

"Good morning!" The woman's voice carried the kind of enthusiasm that suggested she'd been awake for hours and was genuinely delighted to see another human being.

Sloane approached the desk with measured steps, her boots silent on the polished hardwood floors. The reception area itself was a masterpiece of understated luxury—rich wood surfaces, fresh flowers arranged in crystal vases, and that indefinable sense of quality that came from things built to last rather than impress.

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize you." The redhead's brow furrowed slightly as she studied Sloane's face with the kind of focused attention that suggested she took pride in knowing every guest who passed through these doors. "And I most certainly wouldn't have forgotten a striking face like yours."

Heat crept up Sloane's neck and into her cheeks—an unwelcome reaction that made her feel like a teenager being complimented by the popular girl in school. She'd heard variations of that observation throughout her adult life, comments about her looks that ranged from crude catcalls to genuine appreciation, but something about the way this woman delivered the compliment made it feel different. Sincere. Friendly rather than predatory.

Why am I blushing like an idiot? The internal criticism did nothing to cool the warmth spreading across her face. It's just a compliment. People comment on appearances all the time.

"Oh, I checked in late last night." Sloane managed to keep her voice steady despite feeling oddly self-conscious under the other woman's bright gaze. "Ronan and Kozue helped me to a room on the first floor. My name is Sloane Carter."

The redhead's fingers flew across her keyboard, her eyes scanning whatever information appeared on her computer screen. "Oh yes, Sloane Carter, Room 117—our presidential suite." She looked up with that same radiant smile, as if announcing someone had won the lottery. "That room has the most incredible view of the mountain range."

"Yes, about that." Sloane shifted her weight, feeling the familiar discomfort that came with accepting something she couldn't afford. "Do you think I could maybe get downgraded to a smaller room? I really don't need all that space, and I really don't think I could afford it, to be honest."

The admission stung more than it should have. She'd spent years learning to navigate conversations about money without revealing the full extent of her financial limitations, but something about this place—its obvious quality, the casual way luxury surrounded her—made her usual deflection tactics feel inadequate.

The woman's fingers danced across the keyboard again, her expression shifting to one of genuine concern as she studied her screen. "I'm sorry, it looks like everything else is booked for the rest of the week."

That's odd. Suspicion prickled at the edges of Sloane's consciousness. Kozue said they had plenty of space available. Was he lying?

The thought unsettled her. She'd spent her life learning to read people, to detect the subtle signs that indicated when someone was being less than truthful. The skill had served her well in the foster system and later in the underground fighting world, where deception could mean the difference between getting paid and getting hurt.

"There must be some kind of confusion." Sloane leaned forward slightly, her voice carrying a note of urgency she couldn't quite suppress. "Did they give up someone else's room for me?"

Before the redhead could respond, a familiar voice cut filled the morning quiet from behind Sloane.

"Oh good, you're awake."

She looked up to find Ronan emerging from what she assumed was his office—the same doorway he and Kozue had appeared from the night before when they'd first welcomed her and Gerri. Even in the clear light of morning, he was every bit as striking as her memory had painted him. Black hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it, clear blue eyes that seemed to see everything, and that same quiet confidence that made the space around him feel more stable.

Stop noticing how attractive he is, she commanded herself, even as her pulse quickened at the sight of him. You have bigger problems to worry about.

"I wanted to speak with you about something," Ronan continued, his voice carrying that same steady authority she remembered from their first meeting.