Still in a bit of a haze, I stood in the laundry room, arms crossed as the washer thudded to life like it was struggling with the weight of my anxiety. My thoughts were spiraling—someone had definitely been in my room. Not just passing through. They had touched my clothes. Done God knows what to them.
And they might still be here.
Under this same roof.
Was it one of the staffs?
I stared at the spinning machine, jaw clenched. My skin crawled a little, like the feeling you get when someone’s watching you. I hated it. Hated the vulnerability of it. Hated that I couldn’t shake the thought of how long it had been happening. Days? Weeks?
Then—
A hand landed on my shoulder.
I jumped like the damn machine shocked me. My heart slammed into my chest as I spun around and—“Jesus Christ, Ethan!”
