A gun. He’s talking about a gun. He thinks something other than a storm—someone—could be behind this.
My heart hammers uncontrollably, but it’s just the storm. We’re all being paranoid.
When I reach out blindly, his hand finds mine. Warm. Steady. My fingers curl around his instinctively. For just a moment, that’s all there is.
Then the reality of where we’re going settles in. To his room. To get his gun.
Paranoid or not, I’d never admit this to Dorian, but right now I’m grateful he insisted on security. Grateful for Noah’s hand in mine, solid and sure. Grateful it’s him here in the dark with me. Especially him.
Chapter
Eleven
Noah
The lights flicker on, power restored. A moment later, the television hums back to life—the movie resuming mid-scene. I pause in my bedroom doorway, listening. The sound drowns any footsteps.
Chances are the storm caused the outage. Still…
The downstairs bedroom has one entry point—one door. The narrow windows near the ceiling don’t qualify as egress, which any fire marshal would flag, but tonight that works in my favor.
“I’m gonna do a loop. Check things out.”
I stride to the bedside table and remove my handgun.
“It’s just the storm.”
“Probably,” I say, agreeing with Alicia. “I’m still going to do a loop. Stay here.”
Rain lashes at the windows. The shades are drawn and the hall is dark. By the stairs, I flick a switch, blanketing the downstairs in light.
“Widespread outages are being reported,” Alicia calls from the bottom of the stairs, holding her phone.
I grit my teeth—she’s not doing what I told her.
The security panel glows red down the hall—solid light, system secure.
“Stay down there,” I call.
I pull out my phone and check the app I loaded on my phone when Alicia gave me the security company file. We lost electricity, but the app shows the backup kicked in—the system was never down.
Within five minutes, I’ve cleared the second and third floor. There’s no sign of entry. No telltale wetness near an entry point.
Upon returning to the basement, the film is paused but Alicia’s already on her feet, the empty popcorn bowl and our glasses in hand like she’s been waiting to make her exit.
“I’m going to call it a night. Paused it for you.”
“You’re not going to stay and finish?” The question comes out before I can stop it—more interested, more disappointed than I should be.
She won’t quite meet my eyes. “It’s late. I'll see you in the morning.”
Something shifted while I was upstairs. Maybe it was sitting here in the dark together, rain outside, movie playing—too much like something real. Too comfortable.
She’s already halfway up the stairs before I can respond.
I tell myself it’s nothing, but when I finally stretch out by the monitor, the sound of rain isn’t what keeps me alert. It’s the memory of her laugh during the movie. The way she’d curled her feet under her on the couch. How right it felt before everything shifted. By the time I fall asleep, I still haven’t figured out what I did wrong.
Sunday morning, nothing’s clearer. The blinds are open to reveal a gray cloudy day. There’s no sign of Alicia.