Kei was waiting in the hallway outside a suite, same floor as before, but a different room. Bigger. He looked tired. Guilty.
“Hey,” he said soft.
I nodded, throat tight.
He stepped aside to let us in. “Others are at lunch. Figured you’d want quiet first.”
The suite was ridiculous, living room, kitchenette, two bedrooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows with blackout curtains already drawn. Safe.
Kei turned to me. “I’m sorry. About this morning. The way everyone… piled on. Cal was freaking out. We all were. But that’s no excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”
I swallowed. “Thanks.”
He looked at Eli, crouched a little. “Hey, man. I’m Kei. I play guitar in the band.”
Eli stepped behind me, arms around my waist. “Don’t come close.”
Kei raised his hands, backed up smiling. “Fair enough. I’ll stay over here.”
Eli glared. “If you hurt Hadley, I’ll… I’ll hit you with my tablet.”
Kei laughed, real, surprised. “Noted. I like a guy who protects his sister.”
He left, still chuckling. Door clicked shut.
Eli and I collapsed on the huge bed in the smaller bedroom. Room service menu thick as a book. I flipped through it while he curled against my side.
“Want chicken nuggets?”
He nodded. “And fries. And apple slices.”
I ordered. Then stared at the ceiling.
Eli traced the ring on my finger. “What’s that?”
“Just… jewelry.”
He didn’t push.
I stared at the ring too.
What now?
Little did I know things were about to get way more complicated.
Chapter 8
Hadley
The bedroom door was cracked just enough for the hallway light to cut a thin gold line across the carpet. Eli was propped against the headboard, tablet balanced on his knees, noise-canceling headphones clamped over his ears.
The screen glowed blue with one of his favorite high-speed rail videos, Shinkansen slicing through Japanese countryside, the same one he’d watched a thousand times. His breathing had finally evened out after the car ride. No more rocking. No more hands flapping. Just focused staring, thumb tapping the volume button even though the sound was off.
I sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, back against the footboard, knees drawn up, watching him more than the screen. My own phone was face-down on the comforter. I hadn’t looked at it since Zariah texted that she was grabbing coffee downstairs with Holland. The silence felt fragile, like if I breathed too loud it would shatter.
The suite door opened in the living room. Soft click of the latch. Footsteps, slow, hesitant. Not Zariah’s quick stride. Not Holland’s easy swagger. These were heavier. Tired.
I knew who it was before he appeared in the doorway.
