I pat my pockets, then sigh as I remember.
My phone is still in the wreck of my car, or somewhere among the shredded remains of my clothes. Along with my room keycard.
Right now, I have to hope Owen is as predictable as I think he is.
I knock.
Sure enough, the door opens a second later.
Owen stands on the other side, wearing the expression of someone who knew perfectly well it was me and had already guessed I had nothing useful on me.
"You might have the wrong room, Iron Man," he says, a slight smirk tugging at his face.
I stare at him until he opens the door properly.
I step inside, clocking the book open on the coffee table and the half-drunk tea. This is all very Owen, but there is something unusually cheerful about him. Just a restless energy around the edges, as though he is t
