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"Very well," Sylvia typed away briskly, her nails tapping a staccato rhythm against the keys. "Here are your keys. Room 204 for you, Mr. Wright, and 206 for you, Miss Winters. Just up the stairs and to your left."
"Thank you," Amelia said, accepting her key with a nod. Finn took his own, feeling the solid weight of the metal tag in his palm.
"Hope you find our little hotel comfortable," Sylvia said, beaming at them.
"Looks charming," Finn replied genuinely, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the cozy atmosphere despite the turmoil that had led them here.
"Charm's one thing we have in abundance," Sylvia agreed, her voice trailing off as Finn turned toward the staircase, Amelia in step beside him.
As they ascended, the plush carpet muffled their footsteps, and Finn couldn't help but think how this place seemed a world away from the chaos swirling around their investigation. But chaos, he knew, had a way of seeping through the cracks of even the most serene facades.
The keys, cool and metallic, settled into Finn's hand with a definitive click as Sylvia, the receptionist, slid them across the polished wood surface. The mundane transaction was disrupted by the shrill chime of his mobile phone vibrating in his jacket pocket. Finn glanced at the screen, the name 'Demi' igniting a complex knot of emotions within him.
"Go on," Amelia urged, her tone light despite the weight of exhaustion pressing upon her features. "I'm just going to crash for a bit." She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, her eyes reflecting understanding and something that might have been concern.
"Alright," he said, thumbing the answer button. He turned slightly away, instinctively seeking privacy in the open foyer.
"Hello?"
"Finn?" Demi's voice was fraught with tension, a tremor betraying her usual poise. "Have you seen the news?"
"Slow down, Demi." Finn steadied his voice, an effort to project calm. "What's happened?"
"Your partner—Amelia’s apartment—it’s been set on fire."
Finn's mind returned to the images of blackened walls of Amelia's flat flickering behind his eyes. "I know... She's okay. It's just been a bit of a shock."
"Was it Vilne? It's all over the news here, but they didn't mention his name. I'm worried, Finn," Demi said, her voice wavering.
"You're safe, Demi," Finn felt his jaw clench, the molten anger forging a steely resolve. "We're all safe at the moment. I will catch him, and we can put it behind us."
"Safe... but for how long?" Her words hung between them like a specter, the unspoken fears for their safety amplifying the distance of the phone line.
"Look, Demi, I—" Finn started, but he cut himself off, acutely aware of Amelia's presence nearby. She had paused halfway up the stairs and was looking back at him, her expression unreadable.
"Are you okay?" he asked after a pause, changing tack.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one in the middle of all this."
"Occupational hazard," he quipped weakly, though humor was far from his heart. "But I'm managing. Where are you right now?"
"Safe house, two constables," she said, her words clipped, efficient, but Finn heard the undercurrent of fear. He imagined the stark white walls of her temporary sanctuary, the way her gaze must flit to the window at every passing shadow.
"Good. Stay put for now," he instructed, though the notion of her being truly safe while Max Vilne roamed free seemed like a fool's hope.
Deep down, something pulled at his nerves.
Send her home, he thought for a moment. But would be any safer in the States from Vilne's reach? And what would it mean for them? Demi had been adamant that she wouldn't leave the UK without him by her side, that she had come there to renew their relationship. Finn was so confused as to his feelings for her. Was that what he truly wanted?
"Where are you holed up?" Demi's inquiry came quick, tinged with an edge that suggested a thousand unspoken accusations.
"Greenbridge," he replied, breaking from his thoughts, watching as the receptionist shuffled papers, oblivious to the gravity of their conversation. "The hotel has a cozy foyer, not unlike—"
"Isn't that where Amelia's flat burned down?" Demi interrupted, the question sharp, pointed.
The same town, yes." His response was curt, eyes tracing the intricate pattern of the carpet as if it held answers.
"Amelia..." She drew out the name, letting it hang between them like a specter. "You're close to her."
