Page 183 of Override

I'm in a strange house in an unknown location after what might be the most emotionally confusing day of my entire life. Of course I want to be near the one familiar thing I have.

Person. Keaton is a person. A strange one. But still. I feel safer when he's close. That's all.

The explanation settles neatly into place. I throw the blanket back.

The floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I cross the room. I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob, suddenly feeling ridiculous.

What am I going to say?

Hello, mysterious man who removed me from my home without telling anyone. Would you mind sitting closer while I sleep?

No. Maybe I could get water. That's normal. People get water at midnight.

Then, if I happen to sit on the couch for a few minutes—I open the door. And nearly step on Keaton's face. A scream tears out of me as I jump backward.

Keaton comes off the floor so quickly that I barely see him move.

One second, he's lying on his back in the hallway.

The next, he's on his feet. "What's wrong?" His eyes sweep over me. "Are you hurt?"

"What?"

"Did something happen?"

"No."

His hands hover near my arms without actually touching me. His eyes move over my face, then my shoulders, down my arms and back again.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear something?"

"No."

"Nightmare?"

"No."

His shoulders lower approximately half an inch. I stare at him. Then I look at the floor. There's a pillow. A blanket. And, unless I'm hallucinating from exhaustion, a handgun sitting on the floor beside them.

I look back at Keaton. "What are you doing?"

He follows my gaze. "Sleeping."

"In the hallway?"

"Attempting to."

"Why?"

He stares at me as though the answer should be obvious. I wait. Keaton looks toward the living room.

Then back at me. "The couch was too far away."

I blink. "Too far away from what?"