23. #3
I turned slightly, looking up at him again.
"What?"
He exhaled lightly, his hand shifting against my arm.
"I don't know Reese," he said carefully, his tone measured. "So I'm not going to jump to anything."
I waited.
Because there was more.
"But," he added, "it was strange that she told you Alexander wasn't following you."
That made my chest tighten slightly.
"She told him to be discreet," he said. "Not to stop, which isn't what she told you she did."
The words landed quietly.
But they landed.
I didn't say anything right away.
Because suddenly that didn't feel small anymore.
Isabel leaned forward slightly. "Okay, that part is weird."
"It could still be nothing," she added quickly, like she didn't want to push me too far.
But it didn't feel like nothing.
Not anymore.
Not with everything else sitting next to it.
I leaned back slightly, my mind moving faster than I could slow it down now, connecting things I hadn't wanted to connect before.
"Do you remember what they looked like?" Isabel asked. "The ones at the house."
I nodded slowly. "I mean a little. They were red and lace."
She glanced at Grant.
He already looked like he knew where she was going with it.
"Don't even think about it," he said.
"I'm just saying," she replied, holding her hands up.
There was a beat of silence.
And then—
"Unless you want to go check."
I sat up slightly before I even realized I had moved.
Because the thought had not crossed my mind.
I looked at Grant.
Not for permission, but close enough.
He didn't push either way.
Just let his hand slide down my back once, steady.
"It's your decision," he said quietly.
That was all it took.
"Let's go."
They didn't talk much on the drive.
Isabel filled the silence at first, making a few light comments, but even she seemed to realize it after a while, her voice trailing off until the car settled into something quieter.
The road felt longer than it actually was, every turn more familiar than I wanted it to be, every street pulling something back into focus that I had been able to keep at a distance until now.
I kept my eyes forward, my hands resting in my lap, but my thoughts weren't steady.
They moved too quickly, circling the same thing over and over again, trying to make it make sense before I had to actually see it for myself.
I told myself it could still be nothing.
That I was building something out of coincidence.
That there were too many small details and not enough proof.
But that wasn't why my chest felt tight.
It wasn't logic.
It was the possibility.
By the time we pulled up to the house, I already knew I didn't want to go inside.
The place looked exactly the same from the outside. Still. Quiet. No lights on. Nothing that suggested anyone had been there recently, nothing that confirmed or denied anything. It just sat there, untouched, like it had been waiting.
Grant slowed the car to a stop, his hand resting loosely on the wheel as he looked toward the house.
"I'll stay out here," he said, his tone calm, like he wasn't trying to influence my decision one way or the other.
I nodded.
That made it easier.
Or at least it should have.
Isabel was already unbuckling her seatbelt beside me, her energy different now—more focused, less casual.
"You ready?" she asked.
No.
But I opened the door anyway.
The air outside felt cooler than it had earlier, sharper somehow, like it cut through whatever I had been telling myself on the drive over. I walked up the steps slower than I had that morning at Reese's, my keys already in my hand, the metal cold against my fingers.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside first.
The house was quiet.
Everything looked the same. Exactly how I had left it the last time I was here. Nothing moved. Nothing out of place. It should have felt reassuring.
It didn't.
Isabel stepped in behind me, closing the door softly as she looked around, taking everything in without saying anything right away.
"You said it was on your side of the bed?" she asked finally.
I shook my head.
"Rodney's."
My voice came out lower than I expected.
We moved through the house without speaking after that, the sound of our footsteps filling the space more than it should have. The stairs felt longer, each step pulling something tighter in my chest, something I couldn't name but couldn't ignore either.
By the time we reached the bedroom, I slowed.
Not enough to stop.
Just enough to feel it.
"I left it on the bed," I said, more to myself than to her. "And I don't think he's been here since."
Isabel didn't respond. She just stood slightly behind me, waiting.
I pushed the door open.
The room looked untouched.
My eyes went straight to his side.
Nothing.
I stepped forward, slower now, my gaze moving across the surface like I had missed something the first time.
But there was nothing to miss.
"It was right here," I said quietly, my voice tightening just slightly. "I remember leaving it right here."
I stood there for a second, just looking, like if I stared long enough it might appear.
"It could've fallen," Isabel said behind me, already moving.
She checked the side of the bed, crouching slightly to look underneath. "Nothing."
I moved toward the other side, pulling back the comforter, checking the sheets like I hadn't already seen them clearly the first time.
Still nothing.
We checked the floor. The closet. The bathroom.
Everywhere it could've been.
It wasn't there.
I straightened slowly, my hands resting briefly against the dresser as I exhaled.
"Maybe housekeeping came," I said, even though I didn't fully believe it.
"Maybe," Isabel echoed, but her tone didn't sound convinced either.
I looked around the room again, taking it in differently this time.
Everything looked normal.
Exactly how it was supposed to.
And somehow, that didn't feel reassuring.
If anything, it made the absence feel louder.
Like something had been there.
And now it wasn't.
I swallowed, stepping back toward the door, my chest tightening in a way I couldn't fully explain.
"I feel crazy," I admitted quietly.
Isabel stood up straight, brushing her hands together lightly. "You're not crazy," she said. "You just don't have enough information yet."
That didn't make me feel better.
It made it feel unfinished.
I took one last look at the room before turning away, forcing myself to move, to leave it the way it was instead of standing there trying to pull something out of nothing.
As we walked back downstairs, the quiet followed us again, heavier now, like it had something to say but wasn't ready to yet.
I glanced toward the car where Grant was waiting, and for a second, I didn't move.
Because now—
I didn't know what I believed.
Not fully.
But I knew one thing for sure.
Something about this didn't sit right.
And it wasn't going away.