Page 23 of Lured By Shadows

When I opened the door, I found a guy instead. Maybe my age, maybe younger. He stood hunched beneath a hoodie pulled low over shaggy brown hair, his expression already set in place, eyes glassy and distant as though he’d been doing this long enough to stop caring. He thrust an empty hand toward me.

“Money,” he said flatly.

Southern hospitality had officially left the building.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t respond. He just stared at me with the same vacant expectation, as though I were one more stop on a long, dull route.

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the cash my ma had left on the counter. He snatched it without a word, shoved a cardboard box into my arms as though it inconvenienced him, and turned away without so much as a glance back.

“Okay,” I muttered as I shut the door harder than necessary. “Thanks for the food, asshole.”

Still, food was food.

I balanced the box against my arm and headed upstairs, clutching my schoolbag with my free hand as though it might somehow keep me from unraveling. I kept telling myself I had a plan, something simple to hold onto in the middle of all this mess. Eat whatever was in the box. Maybe start on the paper. Maybe pull up one of my old dance videos from back home, the ones that still felt solid and recognizable. Something ordinary that could distract me from those piercing green eyes and the growing suspicion that the guy stuck in my head all day might actually be dangerous.

And even with all that hanging over me, the truth lingered anyway.

I didn’t mind it nearly as much as I was supposed to.

I set the food on my desk and picked at it without paying attention, barely registering the taste. The video timeline scrolled across my laptop screen, recognizable colors and choreography flickering by, but none of it landed. My thoughts kept circling back to Culver, to the feel of his cold fingers brushing my cheek and the way my ma had looked at him as though she were staring at a ghost from her past. The whole evening felt unfinished.

Pressure slowly gathered behind my eyes, tension throbbing at the base of my skull until even the screen started blurring around the edges. I pushed the laptop away and slid the barely touched food aside before leaning forward and resting my cheek against the cool surface of the desk.

Just for a minute, I told myself.

Just long enough to blink the heaviness away.

But the minute stretched, pulling me under.

When I woke, it was with a sharp jerk, my breath catching painfully in my throat. The room felt wrong instantly, heavy with a stillness that made my skin prickle. My face lifted off the paper I’d fallen asleep on, my rough draft crumpled beneath my cheek and faintly damp with a smear of drool.

Sexy.

Truly the image of academic excellence.

I dragged a hand down my face, blinking hard as I tried to shake off the disorientation. Sleep still clung stubbornly to the edges of my mind, thick and difficult to pull free from.

Everything was too quiet.

The laptop screen had dimmed into its idle glow, casting just enough light to reflect faintly off the window. Outside, there was nothing except a stretch of black so thick it looked painted on. The sort of night that felt as though it were waiting for something, holding its breath.

I stood slowly, my limbs heavy with sleep. My eyeliner had smudged down my face, giving me the unearned look of someone who’d lost a bar fight. With a sigh, I shuffled into the bathroom and scrubbed my skin clean, trying to wash away the lingering exhaustion settled deep into my body. I didn’t bother fixing my hair or looking at myself for very long. I just wanted to feel clean again, to shake off the sticky haze clinging to me.

But when I stepped back into my room, my body froze.

Cold air rushed past me, sharp enough to raise goosebumps along my arms instantly.

My eyes snapped toward the balcony. The door was wide open.

Every survival instinct I had instantly filed a complaint. It had officially turned into horror movie behavior.

My pulse lurched as I stood there, blinking, as though maybe I were seeing it wrong. Maybe I’d left it cracked. Maybe the wind had pushed it open.

But no. I knew I’d locked it.

I remembered it being shut before I’d even opened my laptop. I hadn’t touched it, and that realization sent a cold knot tightening in my chest.