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I’ve been choosing dialogue options based on what I could see, while Kain had the fucking strategy guide.

My fingers curl around the notebook.

No.

Worse.

He wrote the strategy guide for a game I didn’t know we were playing.

A solid three knocks punch through the quiet of the house, and I flinch, my head snapping toward the hallway. A second later, my phone buzzes against my thigh. I shift the notebook to fish it from my pocket.

A new message fills the screen.

Ghost

Outside.

My thumb freezes over the screen.

Ghost?

I’ve known Eli Sorrel for years. I’ve seen him at the Blue Note maybe a thousand times.

But outside the lounge? Five times, tops. Four if you don’t count the two times Rowan forced him to participate in gun safety training.

Ghost doesn’t come to people’s houses.

He invites people to the Blue Note. He materializes when he’s needed. He stands by Rowan’s office door with that ledger in his hands.

He doesn’t drive to suburban neighborhoods and knock on front doors.

Another text comes through.

Ghost: William asked me to bring you.

My breath stalls in my throat.

William.

Kain.

The duffel.

Right.

I shove the phone back into my pocket and toss the workbook into the duffel bag on top of the socks and shirt.

More. I need more.

I return to the dresser and grab a sweatshirt from the still-open drawer. The charger I was searching for is right under it, so I throw that in, too, along with a pair of sweatpants.

My hand gropes for Kain’s deodorant on the dresser, and I stuff it into the bag. My fingers bump his bedside lamp, knocking it askew. The light lurches, sending shadows racing across the walls.

My chest heaves.

“Fuck you, Kain,” I whisper to the empty room. “You lying, manipulative piece of shit. You better not be dead.”

I zip the duffel and carry it to the front door.