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“You don’t understand,” I cut him off, tears springing to my eyes. Even the thought of losing that letter without ever having read it made my heart hammer in my chest, my breath coming hard and frantic. It would wreck me. I couldn’t lose them again. “You don’t understand,” I said again, the tears flowing freely as I scrabbled at his hand, trying to pry his fingers off my arm. “I have to—”
“Camilla, Jesus, calm down. I’ll send Devan out to search, okay?”
I was so worked up that it took me a minute to process his words.
“Now. He has to go now,” I insisted.
“Okay. If I go ask him, will you promise me you’ll stay in bed?”
“Yes, I promise. Just go. Please.”
With another stern look that promised serious retribution if I so much as thought about moving, Micah left the room. Low voices rumbled outside the door, and then the front door to the suite opened and closed. I let out my breath in a hiss.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax completely until I had the letter safe in my hands, but there was nothing more I could do now. I was pretty sure I hadn’t put it back in my coat pocket. I could only pray it was still on the rock and the wind hadn’t carried it into the water. Devan would find it; he had to.
Micah didn’t return right away, and I took the opportunity to look around the room. I didn’t even know whose it was—Micah’s, I assumed.
I’d been right; he’d chosen the same room as I had, the one overlooking the lake, though his room was slightly larger than mine and the ceiling didn’t slope quite as drastically. From the view out the window, I guessed we were higher up too, maybe on the third or fourth floor.
His walls were painted a deep blue-gray, but other than that the room, like mine, was barely furnished. The same bed, dresser, and desk in the corner, the same mirror hanging on the far wall. The only hint of personality, the only other clue that this was, indeed, Micah’s room, was the pile of art supplies littering the desk. The sight made me smile a little.
The bed itself, while identical to mine in size and shape, was much more comfortable than mine. The sheets were soft and warm against my bare skin, and I had enough blankets stacked on top of me to ward off any lingering chill.
My fingers and toes ached slightly, but I was warm, I realized, and wondered how long it’d been since they’d brought me here. I felt at my hair on the pillow and found it was still sopping wet. Not long then.
Thank God. Maybe Devan still had a chance to get my letter.
There was a quiet knock at the door, and Micah came back in.
“Sorry, I was checking on Garrett.” He closed the door and crossed to sit again on the edge of the bed.
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“He’s fine. He’s just as mad at being told to lie down as you are, and I had to stitch up the cut on his head, but he’ll be okay.”
“You…gave him stitches?” I asked with a lifted brow.
Micah nodded.
“That’s not exactly a normal skill for a high school student to have,” I pointed out, then narrowed my eyes. “Nor is picking locks, or scaling buildings.”
“Nor is cold water rescue,” he said, meeting my eyes but avoiding my question.
I scoffed. “That was more panic than anything else. I couldn’t exactly leave him there to drown.”
“Sure you could,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Drew did.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. After a moment, Micah let out a jaw-cracking yawn and I suddenly realized he was dressed no better than I had been, in pajama pants and a soft-looking t-shirt. His hair was still mussed from lying on the same pillow I was soaking through with water.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said. “This is your bed, and it has to be what—three in the morning?”
“Nearly four,” he told me. “But it’s fine. You’re welcome to my bed as long as you need it. You probably want some clothes though, huh?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I allowed to put some on?”
“As long as you stay in bed and take it slow,” he said, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “I’m happy to help if you’d like.”
“As if you didn’t see everything when you put me in here,” I grumbled, feeling my face heat.
