The motel room felt too small for three people and all the ghosts we carried. The single lamp in the corner flickered like it couldn’t decide whether to keep us in light or abandon us to the dark.
Noah was pacing, his shoulders tight, the muscles in his jaw clenching with every turn. Desmond sat slouched on the edge of the bed, a towel pressed against his side where the bullet had grazed him. Blood had seeped through, already drying rusty brown, and the acrid smell of antiseptic hung in the air. I’d done the best I could with the cheap first-aid kit from the vending machine in the lobby, but the wound still looked raw.
And me? I sat by the window, blinds cracked just enough to glimpse the parking lot. Every pair of headlights that passed made my stomach seize. Every creak of the pipes fe
