Faolan lay curled on the couch, a book open across her lap, the same line staring up at her for the tenth minute in a row. She hadn’t turned the page, hadn’t absorbed a single word.
Her body was still but her mind was restless. It felt strange not having Thane close by.
It made her anxious.
It had only been an hour since Thane left, but the apartment felt colder. It was like he’d taken all her energy with him and left her floating in a hollow space.
She sat up with a sigh and tossed the book onto the cushion beside her. It bounced, flopped upside down.
“Brilliant,” she muttered to herself.
Pacing the living room didn’t help, either. She made it two full laps before she muttered, “Bollocks,” and headed for the kitchen.
Lunch. She could make lunch. Something easy. Something even she couldn’t burn.
“Mac and cheese,” she announced to no one, opening a cabinet. “Because I am an adult, and I deserve processed cheese and carbs.”
She pulled out the box and set it on the counter. For a second, she just stared at it—her reflection faint in the chrome kettle beside it.
Thane would examine her boxed effort suspiciously, but he’d still eat it. Probably with three kinds of hot sauce.
He’d told her once that cooking relaxed him. Mumbled it, and then looked like he wanted to take it back. And then promptly clammed up after she asked him who he was cooking for.
She stirred the boiling pasta and thought of the tattoo over his chest—the one she’d traced with her fingers just last night. Faded red shoes, like Dorothy’s fromThe Wizard of Oz.
When she’d asked, he’d muttered, “Long story,” and then, after a pause, added, “All of us have one: Zel, Lirian, Maro.”
“Why?” she’d whispered, her lips brushing the arch of his collarbone, though she had some idea.
He’d hesitated, then simply said, “Because we all wanted to keep a piece of you close.”
She’d touched those shoes then, kissed them. And he’d swallowed hard, whispering, “You are my life,” before making her forget everything but the touch of his hands, the feel of his body.
A soft ding from the stove broke her reverie.
She drained the pasta, dumped the sauce in, and stirred it carefully. Then she took one bite and winced. Thane had been spoiling her.
“Okay,” she mumbled, reaching for the salt. “I can mess it up.”
Still chewing, she wandered to the desk, sipping from the glass of water in her hand, letting her eyes drift to the row of monitors above the sideboard.
It showed three angles of the hallway.
All empty as they should be.
No one came up to their floor without being buzzed in. The lift needed a keycard, and Thane had installed double security protocols just to be safe.
Her gaze shifted.
And her heart stopped.
In the third camera, a man stood in the shadows at the end of the corridor.
A full head of grey hair.
Long coat draped over broad shoulders
He wasn’t supposed to be there.
