Page 141 of Black Reign

I slide it free.

One line.

Handwritten.

Elegant.

No block letters.

No attempt to hide feminine script.

I am not what I am.

Below it:

—V

I stare at the words.

Shakespeare. Othello.

Naturally.

Drew reads over my shoulder.

“That's romantic.”

“It absolutely is not.”

“She drank your Scotch, left you a red rose, and quoted Shakespeare.”

“It's a warning.”

“Sexy warning.”

I look at him.

He shrugs.

“Still counts.”

Something catches my attention.

My jacket.

I lift it from the chair.

Nothing missing.

Pockets untouched.

Secure devices still present.

Then I smell it.

Faint.

Almost gone.