Between Shadows

Between Shadows: Chapter 02-A (Insulation)

The silence woke her.

Not the kind that followed rain or settled over snowfall, but the thick, artificial kind that came from tight insulation. The air was too still, and time held tightly between one breath and the next. Evelyn lay there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of footsteps in the hall or the faint whir of the housekeeping cart—anything to ground her in the mundane rhythms of the hotel.

Nothing came.

She sat up slowly, muscles stiff from tension. There’d been no dancing or drowning, but a strange, pervasive sense of being watched still lingered.

The morning light in Evelyn’s room was a pale gray, filtered through gauzy curtains that barely stirred with the draft. She lay still for a long moment, blanket pulled to her chest, listening.

After a moment longer, Evelyn pushed the covers off with more force than necessary and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She couldn’t shake the feeling of something closing in around her.

She moved quickly once she was out of bed, reaching the dresser in a few quiet steps. She kept her eyes down, away from the bed and the darker corners of the room as she dressed and gathered her things, rushing past the full-length mirror on the way out as if something might reach out of it.

Evelyn slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it. She took a deep breath, but the air in the hallway was just as dense and suffocating. She straightened, briskly walking toward the elevator. The carpet swallowed her steps. Her ears rang faintly, a low static that made her neck tense.

Her pace quickened again, as if the hallway might collapse in on her. She heard a chime just as she rounded the corner to the elevator lobby, then froze.

One of the elevators was just beginning to close. Through the narrowing gap, she caught a glimpse of someone inside. Navy uniform. Pale gloves. A still figure standing in the center of the cab, hands clasped in front of him like he’d been waiting. Her breath caught.

The doors sealed shut before she could move.

She lunged forward, pressing the call button. The light above flicked on. With a quiet chime, the same elevator opened almost immediately.

It was empty.

Just polished brass and tiled floor, blank mirrors on three sides.

One hand still hovered near the button as she stood in front of the open doors. Her reflection on the back wall didn’t look right—distorted slightly by the paneling, off-center somehow.

She suddenly averted her gaze and stepped back without entering.

Another elevator dinged down the hall, doors sliding open to reveal another untouched cab. No one in sight. Still no sound.

She turned and walked toward the stairwell at the end of the corridor, pushing the door open with more force than necessary and taking the stairs two at a time.

Let the elevator wait.

Whatever she’d seen—or hadn’t—she wasn’t getting in with it.

—

The cold sharpened her edges as she stepped out into the crosswalk. Brisk air bit at her ears. She breathed it in and let it settle in her lungs. Her pulse had evened out by the time the bookstore came into view.

The bell over the Nightjar’s door gave a soft chime as she entered. Warm air wrapped around her, and the scent of freshly baked pastries wafted from the café. Only one person sat at the café counter. Aside from the rumbling of the espresso machine, the bookstore was quiet. Evelyn paused, letting the door swing closed behind her.

Lorian stepped out from behind one of the café’s side counters and headed for a corner table, carrying a pastry bag and two coffees. He hadn’t seen her yet. His clothes were as crisp as always, sleeves rolled back to the elbow, but his hair looked like it had been warred with, and ultimately abandoned. A half-hearted comb-through, maybe. The result was all waves and defiance.

She angled in from behind, just far enough off his periphery that he didn’t notice her until she spoke.

“You look almost exactly like I feel,” Evelyn said as she approached his table.

Lorian jumped a little, nearly losing hold of one of the coffee cups before catching it with a muttered curse. He turned just enough to look over his shoulder and gave her a once-over. “Keep talking like that and I’m keeping both coffees.” He motioned to the opposite chair as he sat down. “Sit. I come bearing coffee and sugar and questionable hair decisions.”

Evelyn slid into the seat across from him, tugging her scarf loose. The warmth of the shop was only just starting to seep in. She wrapped both hands around the cup he pushed toward her. It was blessedly hot.

Lorian opened the pastry bag and pushed it to the center of the table. “Muffin? Scone? Thing that used to be a croissant?”

She peered into the bag. “What’s that one?”

“Unclear. Might be raspberry. They gave me the mystery bag today.”

She took it anyway. “Perfect.”

They ate in relative quiet for a stretch, the kind of pause that didn’t feel strained. The café around them was waking slowly—milk steaming at the counter, chairs dragging faintly as people settled in, soft music from the café speakers.

Evelyn caught herself watching Lorian over her cup as she took a drink. He looked better in the morning light than she wanted to admit—less guarded, maybe, or just too tired to perform anything.

“So this is the breakfast part of the bribe?”

“Please,” Lorian said. “This is goodwill. The bribe comes later, when I ask you to smuggle me into your restricted stacks again.”

“I told you, that was a one-time favor,” she said, pulling a flake of crust from her pastry. “Besides, you got your dates. What else do you want?”

“Just a little context to tie up a few loose ends.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

Lorian hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his expression. He looked down at his coffee, thumb tracing the edge of the cardboard sleeve. “Yeah, I figured.” He seemed to weigh something. “You’re going to make me earn it, aren’t you?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She studied him for a second. Something in his posture had shifted—shoulders a little tighter, smile a touch more careful, like he’d stepped back from a line she hadn’t realized they were nearing.

“Okay,” he said, straightening in his chair. “Let’s not start with the weirdest part. There’s plenty of that to go around.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve got a few boxes in the back,” he went on. “Old newspaper clippings, stuff that didn’t make it into the main catalog. Letters, some architectural notes from the city’s historic preservation board. If we’re going to start putting things together, we might as well start somewhere we know is real.” He stood, gathering the stray wrappers into the pastry bag.

She didn’t say it aloud, but she was starting to wonder if “real” was going to be a moving target.