The apartment is too quiet. That kind of quiet that hums in your ears, like something is waiting just beyond the walls. Valen’s coat still hangs by the door, a dark sentinel. His scent, smoke, whiskey, and something darker still lingers in the air.
I shouldn’t be in his office. I know that. The desk is his territory, his war table. But ever since the red folder, my curiosity has been a splinter under my skin. Every locked drawer, every password I’ve guessed, every piece of paper I’ve glanced at, it all feels like looking through a keyhole at a life I’ll never fully understand.
The phone sits on his desk, screen dark. It buzzes once, a tiny, sharp vibration that makes me jump. Without thinking, I reach for it.
My thumb brushes against the screen. The voicemail app opens.
One new message
