Braxton waited until the house fell still again, every light in the living room dimmed, every sound from Irish’s footsteps upstairs fading. Then, like he’d done this kind of thing a hundred times before, he tested Andrea’s window.
It slid up with a soft click.
He winced at the noise, freezing in place. When nothing stirred, he carefully hoisted himself through, landing quietly on the wooden floor. The smell of lavender and something faintly sweet, her shampoo maybe, wrapped around him instantly.
Andrea’s room wasn’t what he expected. No posters of boybands or bright teenage clutter. Just a neat desk, a few well-worn books stacked on the nightstand, a throw blanket on the chair. It was simple, personal, her.
But his eyes didn’t linger long on the details. They went straight to bed.
Sh
