Page 14 of Noel Secrets

Her breath clouded faintly against the window. She traced a circle with her finger, her mind spinning back—not to the faceless men she feared but to two others.

Michael and Simon.

Her mouth tightened.

Michael, with his half-smirk, his reporter’s curiosity that always saw more than she wanted him to, and Simon with his slick smile, expensive watch, and a suave charm that always set her guard on high alert. They’d both sidled up to her too quickly, offered help too easily. Men like that tended to have a price tag tucked behind their words.

They both wanted something from her.

She couldn’t tell what yet.

But she knew this much: they weren’t getting it.

She had enough on her plate—classwork, survival, trying not to crumble under the weight of fear every time she heard footsteps in the corridor. She didn’t have time for them, or their interests, or whatever schemes they hid behind polite smiles.

She would tell them both to leave her alone. Tomorrow.

A soft knock startled her. She froze, blanket clutched to her chest, heart slamming.

Michael’s warning from earlier surfaced like a lighthouse beam in her memory. It’s dangerous to open the door to strangers.

She swallowed hard, leaned close. “Who is it?” she whispered.

The reply was quiet, feminine. “Jayda? It’s Ginny. How are the boys? They being good for you?”

Relief sagged Jayda’s shoulders, though the tension didn’t fully leave. She glanced at the bunk—two tousle-haired heads, still lost in sleep.

“They’re fine,” she said through the door, careful to keep her voice low.

There was a pause. Then Ginny’s voice, softer still. “Will you open the door? I just want to see for myself. And…” A beat of hesitation. “I want to know you’re all right.”

Jayda closed her eyes. Ginny meant well—she always had. She’d been the closest thing Jayda had had to a mother during those years in foster care. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ginny always wanted to step into shoes that didn’t fit. No one could fill the void her actual mother had left.

Her throat tightened. “Maybe in the morning,” she said, forcing gentleness. “It’s late. Let’s…talk then.”

A pause. Then a small, sad, “Okay.”

The footsteps receded. Jayda exhaled, leaning back against the pillow.

She barely had time to settle before another knock rattled the door.

Her sigh came sharp, frustrated. Ginny again?

She pushed to her feet, shoving her arms into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her foster mom would never understand that this conversation couldn’t be forced. Jayda didn’t want her to play mother now, not after all these years.

But fine. Tonight, she’d let Ginny fuss and get it out of her system.

Jayda pulled the sweatshirt over her head, padded barefoot across the cabin floor, and tugged open the lock.

Her blood iced.

Not Ginny.

A man.

Dark jacket, sharp shoulders, eyes like black glass fixed on her, but his face was in the shadows of the dark corridor.

Jayda reacted on instinct—shoving the door, trying to slam it shut. His hand caught the edge, pushing back. The wood bit into her palms as she leaned her weight against it, desperate.