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Finn felt a rage building in his bones that he hadn't felt for an age. How dare he attack Amelia's life like that. He could feel his blood boiling, but he knew that the most important thing he could do was not let the anger overcome him into making mistakes – but to keep Amelia safe at all costs.
"Greenbridge has a hotel, right?" Finn's practicality cut through the haze of her shock, a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters.
"Yes, the Queen's Arms, near the market square," she answered almost automatically. Amelia gazed at the remnants around her as if her mind were already cataloging what needed to be salvaged, which leads to pursue.
"Let's get a couple of rooms there. Regroup." Finn's suggestion was more than just strategy; it was solidarity.
"I can't have you involved more than you already are. Go back to your cottage, Finn," Amelia argued.
Finn could see something he had rarely seen in her eyes before – fear. Despite her words, it was as though the thought of solitude in the wake of such violation chilled her more than the evening air seeping through the broken windows ever could.
"No chance," Finn countered, his tone brooking no argument. "Not when that psychopath is taking the game to this level. I'm worried for your safety."
Finn was glad to see a look on her face, an appreciation. He hoped that his words wrapped around her like the coat she no longer owned, offering a semblance of security amid her loss. He could see it all inside of her. It wasn't just her apartment that had been torched—it was her sense of normalcy, her belief in a place she could control. Now, all she could do was watch the remains smolder, knowing that somewhere out there, Max Vilne was plotting his next move.
Something then slowly changed in her expression, as though she were now accepting of the situation.
“There's nothing left,” she said, almost sobbing.
Finn put his arm around her shoulders, gently moving her away from the horror of it all.
“There's nothing left to do here, let the firefighters do their job, and we'll do ours,” he said, softly.
The acrid scent of charred memories lingered in the air as Finn and Amelia stepped out into the cool night. The building behind them, a blackened shell against the darkening sky, seemed to loom over them—a grim sentinel bearing witness to the night's events.
"Come on," Finn urged, guiding her with a gentle hand at the small of her back. "Let's get away from here."
Amelia nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. The orange glow of street lamps cast long shadows that danced around them, as if Max Vilne's presence was an invisible specter haunting their every move, and Finn feared that he was capable of bringing more tears to the world than anyone he had ever encountered.
"Where is this hotel?" Finn asked, his eyes scanning the quiet streets of Greenbridge, alert for any sign of danger.
"Two streets down, on Harper Street, just off Market Square," Amelia replied, her voice carrying a determination that belied the tremor beneath it. She could looked at Finn as though the weight of his gaze on her, protective and unwavering. He hoped that it served as a reminder that she wasn't alone.
"Good. Once we're there, we'll have more eyes around us." Finn's tone was resolute, but there was an undercurrent of concern that didn't escape Amelia. "If Max Vilne even thinks about following us, he won't find it so easy to strike without witnesses."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Amelia quipped, though the attempt at lightness fell flat. Her shoes clicked against the concrete, hollow against the silence enveloping the town.
"After today, it's not about feeling better. It's about staying alive," Finn said solemnly. Deep down, however, all Finn could feel was a burning desire for revenge, a need to make him pay for what he had done to Amelia.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Finn felt exhausted from the day's investigation, but while he wanted to sleep, he couldn't leave Amelia's side. The Greenbridge hotel emerged like a quaint portrait from the drizzle, its warm golden glow spilling out onto the slick cobblestone street. After parking nearby, Finn walked quietly with Amelia to its entrance.
As Finn Wright pushed open the heavy oak door, the foyer's intimate charm enveloped him and Inspector Amelia Winters in an almost tangible embrace. The lobby was adorned with vintage floral wallpaper and dark wood paneling that whispered tales of a bygone era, while a small fire crackled invitingly in the hearth.
"Evening," Finn greeted the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a beehive hairdo that defied gravity. Her nameplate declared her as 'Sylvia.'
"Good evening, sir, ma'am. How may I assist you?" Sylvia’s voice was infused with a practiced cheeriness.
"We need two rooms for the night," Finn said, glancing at Amelia, whose keen eyes surveyed the space with a detective's thoroughness.
"Of course, just one double room then?" Sylvia's fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to seal their fate.
Amelia's brow arched elegantly, and Finn's ears reddened as he hastily corrected, "No, no, separate rooms, please."
"Ah, my apologies!" Sylvia chuckled, her earrings jangling like chimes. "I sometimes jump to conclusions. Been watching too many of those romantic dramas on telly, I suppose."
"Understandable mistake," Amelia offered with a wry smile, her tone teetering between amusement and professionalism. But Finn knew Amelia so well that he could see past that. She was clearly trying to be brave, but underneath she was adrift in a sea of sadness from the day's events.
