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He’s making sure he doesn’t leave fingerprints.
Such a thing hadn’t even crossed my mind. Is it common practice or does he know more about Blair than I’ve given him credit for?
We’re three flights up when he notices me staring.
“You think Kilian would leave me here to guard you after an explosion and not tell me why?” Archer asks quietly. He doesn’t require an answer.
“So you know everything,” I say as we approach the fourth floor and my heart pounds harder than ever, fighting panic, nerves, and a climb of eight stairways.
“I’m honored that he can share such important things with me,” Archer replies, “even if a lot of it leaves me confused.” He pushes open the final door and guides me into a corridor lit with bright lights and wallpaper so ghastly green that my stomach churns violently.
“He doesn’t tell me who knows what,” I reply softly, “so I don’t really have anyone to talk to.”
“He only told me this morning, if it’s any consolation,” Archer offers with a slight soft smile. “But if you ever need someone to talk things over with, and Killian is alright with it, you have my number. Your friends don’t know about your life, do they?”
I shake my head and Archer’s offer might make me feel better if I wasn’t so sure my pounding heart was about to shatter my skeleton.
“What number?”
“413,” I say and Archer leads the way down the hallway. I stare at his back as we move, trying to ignore the nauseating wallpaper. Reaching the door, he glances at me for confirmation before he knocks three times.
Silence answers us.
What, did I really think a three year old could answer the door?
I’d expected to hear crying or something but there’s only silence.
“You want inside?” Archer asks and I nod before I can stop myself.
Archer rummages in his pockets, pulls out a small back box, and crouches by the keypad. I’m about to ask how he plans on picking an electronic lock but with a flurry of powder and the press of a sticker later, the door swings open.
It dawns on me then that as much as I live this life, seeing themactuallyat work is impressive.
Darkness greets us and Archer unholsters a gun that had been hidden underneath his jacket. The safety clicks back and he steps inside, motioning for me to stay back.
I do, for a few seconds before impatience gets the better of me and I follow him inside.
The curtains are drawn, hiding the apartment away from the light in the world and I’m only able to make out a few odd shapes of furniture. Archer moves slowly, creeping around with much better coordination than I, until he reaches a window and draws the curtain back in one swift movement. Bright afternoon sunshine spills in the large bay windows at the same time a squeal erupts from someone laying on the couch.
Archer spins on the spot, aiming his gun at the culprit and I take a step back in fright, only to pause as all the nervous energy seeps out of me in one sudden wave, replaced by hot, seething anger.
“Blair?!”
Blair, dressed in black leggings and an oversized t-shirt, turns her tear-stained face to me. Then a sob erupts roughly from her throat and she buries her red face into her tissue-filled hands, a sea of which litter the couch and floor around her.
“Oh fuck,” she sobs, “I thought you were someone else.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?!” I snap, pacing forward as Archer lowers his gun.
“I live here!” Blair exclaims between tears.
“Fucking hell,” Archer groans and he steps back towards the window as I approach.
“No, I mean why are you here? Here alive and not dead in the remains of that fucking restaurant!”
A wail tears out of her then, scratching at my ears and I wince sharply as she cries uselessly. She’s a far cry from the calm, put-together wild cat that lingers in the best clubs in town.
Then, for a moment, my anger calms as I glance around her apartment. Despite the mess of tissues and snot around her couch, the rest of the apartment is pristine, with picture-perfect upper-class decor. Sleek blue and gold furniture, glass decorations, and extravagant art decorates the walls. It reminds me briefly of Killian’s old apartment.
