Keira
Sleep didn’t come easily that night, not with Preston Hale’s disappearance sitting heavy in my mind, the unsettling knowledge that someone dangerous enough to leave a note like that had simply vanished before the police could reach him. Ryder noticed, of course, the way he noticed most things about me lately, careful and attentive in a way that had nothing to do with cameras or performance anymore.
“You’re not going to sleep like this,” he said gently, finding me still curled on his couch well past midnight, phone in hand, refreshing the group chat for updates that weren’t coming.
“I keep thinking he’s still out there. Watching.”
“He’s not getting anywhere near you. Not tonight, not with the security detail posted outside, not with all of us determined to make sure of it.” Ryder
