Seven
It’s late when I get back and the beach is deserted, so I go ahead and autoport back to my room. After placing the seashell in the desk drawer next to the feather, I grab my phone and send the gang a quick text to let them know I’m back safe.
A phone beeps from the vicinity of my always-messy bed.
Scowling, I cross the room and yank the comforter away. There’s Troy, sprawled across my sheets, sleeping like a little baby.
“Hey,” he says, rolling over and squinting into the light. “You’re back.”
I don’t bother confirming the obvious. “How did you get in here?”
I swear I reset my protections after last time.
He sits up, rubs his eyes with one hand, and waves at the window with the other.
“I’m on the third floor,” I argue while he stifles a yawn.
“I know.” He gives me a lopsided
