Page 93 of Twisted Violet

ROME

The walkto our security room is short.

Tristan’s already there when I arrive. The monitors in front of him cycle between feeds. Exterior, lobby, elevator, garage. I step inside and shut the door behind me.

“What do we have?” I ask.

“Traffic cams caught a black SUV idling near the east entrance the night Stevie and Atlas visited,” Tristan says without looking up. “No plates. No identifying marks.”

My spine locks.

“When?”

He taps a few keys and pulls the feed up on the largest monitor.

“Here.”

The timestamp flashes.

1:27 AM. Five days ago.

The same night.

The same fucking night she was in my bed, dusted in sugar and smiling like the world was finally quiet.

I step closer to the screen. The SUV’s windows are blacked out. No decals. No movement. But it’s there. Sitting across the street, engine on, lights off.

Watching. Waiting.

Stevie and Atlas left around 2:00 A.M.

I remember it now.

I didn’t check the cameras after I went back to my room.

I didn’t think I needed to.

“Zoom in,” I say.

Tristan does. The image is grainy; there’s still no plate, but the silhouette of the driver is visible. Big frame, white shirt, with a dark coat slung over the seat.

I stare at the screen like it owes me a fucking apology.

“How long was he parked there?”

“Thirty-seven minutes,” Tristan replies. “He never got out of the car and drove off just before 2:04 A.M.”

I scrub a hand down my face.

He didn’t need to get out of the car because he wasn’t here for Stevie.

He was here forher.

I should’ve noticed he followed them here, but I didn’t.

She was in my bed.

Exposed and unprotected.