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He returns with two steaming mugs, placing one in my hands, then pulls out his desk chair and sits in it, facing me. “Now tell me what’s got you running scared at this hour.”

I wrap my fingers around the mug, letting its warmth seep into my skin. The coffee is strong and bitter, grounding me.

“Someone was in my apartment,” I say finally, not meeting his eyes.

He stiffens but his silence prompts me to continue.

“I woke up around one. The room was freezing. I…don’t normally get cold.” I risk a glance up. “I saw a shadow pass under my door.”

“A burglar?” His tone is neutral, professional, but his posture has subtly shifted—more alert, more protective.

“Not exactly.” I set my mug down, trying to organize the inexplicable into something coherent. “The bathroom door was locked from the inside. Then I saw blood coming from underneath it.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “Blood?”

“When the door opened, there was nothing there. No blood. No person.” I run a hand through my hair, still disheveled from sleep. “I know how it sounds.”

“Like something from a ghost story,” he says, but his voice lacks skepticism. If anything, he sounds thoughtful.

“When I turned around, there was someone in my bedroom. From where I just came from. A shadow moving across the room. The window was open, it wasn’t before.” I meet his gaze directly. “They took her diary from where I hid it. They knew where it was.”

“So it’s gone?”

“It’s gone. And when I looked out, someone was watching me from across the street. Just standing there in the darkness, smoking.”

His posture stiffens again. “Could you identify them?”

“No. Just that it was a man.”

He seems to think that over, his black brows furrowing. “Did you tell anyone else about her diary, aside from me?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone.” I meet his gaze. “Which means they’ve been watching me closer than I thought and…”

“And they searched your entire apartment while you were sleeping,” he finishes, his expression darkening, which makes a chill run down my spine. “Could that have been possible? Did you notice the floorboards when you first woke up?”

I try to think but I can’t recall. I’d been too spooked by what had been in the hall. “Maybe…maybe Elizabeth told someone else I had the diary.”

“Maybe she did. Either way, not your average burglar.”

“No.” I take a sip of coffee, using the moment to consider how much to reveal. Humans don’t believe in vampires until a vampire tells them the truth themselves. I don’t want to do that with Callahan. I promised my parents and the others that it would always remain a secret. That’s the way it has to be for us. The only way we can live in the world undetected.

And yet I think we might be dealing with something more than a murderer. Something much more dangerous. What I came across tonight couldn’t have been a mere human.

“There was something wrong about the whole thing. The impossible cold. The blood that wasn’t there. It felt…”

“Supernatural?” he suggests when I trail off.

I raise my brows at the use of that word. Most humans, especially practical ones like Callahan, avoid such terms. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

Something flickers in his eyes. “Not really. Though I have been going through something that is starting to push my limits of understanding.” He sets his mug down on his desk. “I’m having these blackouts, missing sections of time—sometimes I wake up in places with no memory of going there.” He pauses. “Outside your apartment building, for example.”

My breath catches. “When?”

“Few nights ago.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m beginning to recognize as one of his rare displays of uncertainty. “I lost about ten hours. Just gone.”

“That’s concerning,” I say carefully. Very concerning. I wonder if I should tell him what I first thought when I was being followed outside The Lavender Room. That it was him stalking me down the streets. But after tonight I know that’s notpossible. Whoever was stalking me is probably the same person who broke into my apartment. Besides, Callahan isn’t a vampire. I would know.

But…he is something, isn’t he?