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He fumed, jaw tightening as he took a step toward me. I stood calmly, not moving an inch. I knew very well how to play this game in my sleep. Grayson Stormhold can try me.

“Grayson,” Arkane warned from behind me, and it stopped him in his tracks. “Stop messing with her,” he said in a low tone, and Grayson backed off.

I turned to see Arkane eyeing me with an unfamiliar look. “Go, Bella, and be careful,” he said, something soft in his tone.

I nodded, quickly slipping out of the room. Another extra second in there would give me a pounding headache. The amount of high testosterone, confrontations, and conflicting personalities all in the small space was too much for my brain.

I entered our room again, and thankfully, silence greeted me, not explicit sounds. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I wanted to check out this place. Something about it felt amiss, like it was staring at me right in the face, but I couldn’t figure it out.

I paused on the spot, trying to think rationally about the situation. Something just wasn’t adding up.

Timothy Walters said Killian would be here, and he was.

He also said the traitor would be here. Except he wasn’t.

Yet somehow, he brought not just Arkane but Jon and Grayson here.

Only someone on the inside could help Timothy Walters without flagging Arkane. A man like him wouldn’t dare risk Arkane’s wrath otherwise.

So the only possible conclusion was that Timothy Walters wasn’t working for the Covent, but the traitor? If so, why?

None of it made sense, but one thing was for sure—either this was a retaliation for his brother’s death, or a distraction.

A distraction for what, though?

Or even a trap?

For whom, though? For Killian or Arkane or both? What were the chances that Killian and Arkane ended up in the same room without a reason? There definitely was one. I just had to figure out what. I had a feeling it was for their lives.

Grabbing my coat, I headed downstairs. The hotel felt like a ghost, yet it was busy. Maybe it was because I hadn’t seen a soul, but I could hear everything.

The lobby was empty, and only two men, dressed in black, with wires in their ears and guns in hand, loitered by the main entrance.

It was Arkane’s guards, Simon and Eric. I recognized them from the night at the Yellow Canary.

“Miss Esteal.” They nodded at me as I approached them.

“Where’s the reception guy?” I asked.

“He went out for a break,” Eric replied.

And they just let him? Seeing the question in my eyes, Eric continued, “We have one of our guys follow him. Don’t know who hired the guy. This is his fifth break already.”

He was either a lazy worker or creating a pattern. I hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“What about others? Did you see anyone else?”

Eric shook his head. “Apparently, there is a big party going on tonight, and everyone is busy with that.”

Must be the loud music and chatter that Arkane and I heard earlier this evening.

Thanking them, I walked out, wanting to map the surroundings. A biting-cold wind rustled over me as I tilted my head up to take in the four-storied Rose Ellen in the night, with its sullen yellow lights and creeping vines. It looked even more desolate in the darkness. Through the corner of my eye, I could see a line of cars parked all the way down the street. Arkane had this place completely surrounded.

So if Timothy Walters wanted Arkane dead, what would he do?

A sniper? Possible, but since only Stormhold weapons were allowed in the Twins, it seemed unlikely because they could track them easily.

Explosives? But the Stormholds had tech to detect them, and they found none, according to Arkane.