Page 29

W ork lasted a thousand years.

Maybe longer.

Lex couldn’t wait to get out of the office. To get out of this stuffy, hot suit and into something more comfortable.

T-shirt and jeans time.

Two more days of London, and they’d be back in Eunice, Ohio.

Thank fuck.

One more full day. One more morning, and then their flight left at two.

No more Ollie.

No Gabriel.

No Noah.

No Max or the ghosts of Benji and Kyran.

Not even Kate .

Just him. Just Morgan.

Lex didn’t realize anything was wrong until he saw Morgan looking at him. Nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. Lex glanced down and that’s when he saw it.

Bloody footprints— his bloody footprints. They tracked from the door to where he was standing.

An envelope laid there, lodged halfway under the crack. One side soaked through with red.

Lex crouched, his stomach coiled tight as he reached for it. He used the tip of one fingernail to lift the corner. The envelope made a sound when it peeled off the carpet—squelchy and faint, like a dishrag left too long in the wash.

He didn’t open it right away. Couldn’t figure out how to without smudging blood on every inch of his clothes.

“Lex?” Morgan’s voice came from behind him.

Lex didn’t answer. He turned the envelope over.

Morgan’s name was on it.

In pink glitter pen. The kind little girls might use in a diary in middle school. The handwriting was round, looping, full of unnecessary hearts. The a in Morgan’s name had turned into a star.

“What the fuck,” he whispered.

Morgan crossed the room in three strides, leaned over Lex’s shoulder. But Lex kept it to himself, held the envelope tight in both hands, like it was proof of something no one else could understand. Blood had already soaked into his palms, tacky and thick. That wasn’t something he could’ve stopped.

“Hand it over.” Morgan said .

“Don’t touch it.”

Lex finally tore the flap open.

Just a tongue.

A tongue.

It wasn’t processing right in his head.

He was holding onto a severed, human tongue.

Still wet. Still pink around the root, taste buds bloated and soft. It folded over itself like a slug, like it was going to magically jump up and slither away if he didn’t put salt on it.

And stuck to it was a small card.

Lex set down the tongue with shaking fingers. Picked up the card instead.

It was bright yellow, glossy. Way too damn cheerful. On the front, in the same freaky pink ink, it read: Found you~

Inside: a childlike drawing of two figures. One tall, one short. Stick people. The tall one had a heart drawn over its head. The other? A frown and Xs for eyes. Red crayon lines ran from its neck to the bottom of the paper like the blood on Lex’s hands.

“Is this—” Lex choked out a laugh. “Is this real? Or is this some weird prank?”

Morgan reached over, slid his finger over the tongue. Licked it .

Lex was going to fucking vomit.

“It’s very real,” Morgan said. “Fresh, too. Maybe two… two and half hours.”

Thanks. Morgan, you’re the greatest. My favorite. But I don’t want to know anything about your gross-ass food preferences.

He forced back the shiver, shaking it out of his arms .

The blood on his hands hadn’t dried yet.

He rubbed his thumb against his palm, then his fingertips, but it didn’t come off.

He could feel it sinking into the creases of his skin, under his ripped nails.

It felt… disgusting. No wonder Morgan had texture issues with it.

He wanted to scrub it off, but his mind had shut down partway through.

The glitter pen.

The tongue.

The card.

He couldn’t tell if the room was hot or cold anymore. His body couldn’t decide.

Morgan grabbed the edge of the card with a pair of tongs from the wet bar.

“Someone probably dropped it off,” he murmured as he turned it over. “Either with the concierge, or to our door directly.”

No shit, Morgan.

Lex reached for the card. “Give it to me.”

“You shouldn’t hold onto it.”

“ Give. It. To. Me .”

Morgan didn’t push any farther. He dropped it back into Lex’s palm.

Lex stared at it like it held a riddle he was supposed to solve. Like if he looked hard enough , he could see who sent it. Maybe they left a fingerprint. A hair. Something to go on. He held it too close, then too far. He turned it sideways, upside down.

Nothing .

His brain would start, then just fucking die . Mid-thought. Not good enough to grab onto anything real.

Who the fuck sends a tongue?

Who knows?

He didn’t feel scared. Not exactly.

He felt exposed. Peeled back. Someone had reached through the cracks and touched the part of him he hadn’t known was vulnerable.

His chest squeezed. Tight. Hot.

And then Morgan’s hand landed on his shoulder.

Gentle.

Not commanding. Not restraining. Just warm.

When he looked up, Morgan’s expression was unreadable again.

But there was no threat in it.

It was—

Wait.

That was it.

That was the look . He’d seen it a few days ago. Right before the bath. When Morgan had grabbed his wrist and said, don’t fight.

He hadn’t imagined it. That hadn’t been part of the spiral. He wasn’t fucking crazy.

He was right .

Holy shit, he was right.

It was concern.

And this ?

This was the same expression.

And the closer he looked, it was the same one from last night .

“I didn’t lose my touch,” Lex said under his breath.

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“N—nothing. Nothing. Forget it. I’m thinking out loud.”

But now he could see it—so fucking clearly.

Morgan only softened when Lex shattered. Only let himself feel anything at all when Lex was gone or blinking underwater or seconds from being lost.

He loves me when I’m broken.

Lex gripped the card tight enough to bend it in half.

That… wasn’t fair.

But it was also something .

A crack in Morgan’s armor. A peek inside his damn, messed-up head.

If Morgan only paid attention when he was in pieces—

He could do that. It wasn’t hard.

He’d done worse.

Lex didn’t let go of the card.

Not even when Morgan turned back to the bar. Not when he wrapped the tongue in a towel and slid it into a freezer bag like it was fucking leftovers . Lex held the bent card in both hands, knuckles tight, breathing shallow like he’d just barely remembered how to do it .

This was the part where he was supposed to freak out, wasn’t it?

He could already feel it rising—tight in the back of his throat, dry behind his eyes. The edge of a tremble he didn’t try too hard to stop. That little flicker of panic, waiting to be nurtured into something bigger.

Something that looked real.

He sat on the bed. Slowly. He didn’t flop back. Didn’t bounce. Let his knees fall open, card in one hand, the other pressed to his chest like he didn’t trust it not to cave in. He waited until Morgan looked back at him—just for a second—and dropped his gaze immediately.

“Who would—” he started softly, almost too softly. Just enough to carry. “Who would do this?”

Morgan didn’t answer.

So Lex curled a little tighter, the card crumpling under his grip.

“They know,” he added, barely breathing the words. “I mean… fuck. What—what are we supposed to—someone’s been…”

Stuttered words? Check.

Fragmented sentences? Check.

Turns out Ollie had multiple uses.

Still nothing.

But there was no other sound either. No ice cubes clinking. No alcohol pouring.

Good. That meant Morgan was listening.

“I—I wanna go home, Morgan…”

Oh. Oh, that one worked .

Morgan was closer now. Lex could feel it . The shift in the air. That quiet pressure he always carried when he hovered. His fingers brushed the top of Lex’s head.

Lex didn’t look, even if he wanted to. He let his breathing hitch just once. Swallowed hard enough to be heard.

“I messed it up. I—I fucked everything up, didn’t I?”

Morgan crouched in front of him.

Lex didn’t meet his eyes.

If Morgan saw the seams too early? If the hook didn’t sink in just right ?

Where were the fucking tears ? The one time he wanted to cry, he couldn’t.

“We’ll go home,” Morgan said quietly. His hand landed on Lex’s thigh, squeezed. “You’re alright.”

He leaned into the touch, like it was keeping him grounded. Like Morgan’s palm was the only thing holding his bones together. And when Morgan reached for him, just slightly, like he might pull Lex into his arms—

Lex let him.

Sagging against Morgan’s chest, he gripped the bent card with both hands again. Buried his face against the warm cotton of Morgan’s shirt.

Morgan didn’t let go.

His arms wrapped around Lex, tight enough to crack his back, and Lex felt it again—that gap in the armor. That hint of gentleness Morgan never said out loud.

Like Lex was actually worth protecting.

Step one? Check.