The motel office smelled like stale coffee and something vaguely chemical, the scent of cheap cleaning supplies failing to cover up years of neglect. A small, outdated television flickered from the counter, playing a daytime talk show that no one was watching.

A man sat behind the desk, middle-aged, wearing a wrinkled button-down with the top few buttons undone. His eyes barely lifted from his phone as Noah approached.

“One room,” Noah said, slipping a credit card onto the counter.

The man barely glanced at him. His gaze flicked toward Vivian instead, taking in the oversized jacket, the way she held it tightly around herself, the stiffness in her posture. His lips twisted slightly—not concern, not suspicion, just recognition.

He had seen this before.

Girls arriving in the afternoon, too quiet, wearing men’s jackets that weren’t theirs.

He didn’t care.

Noah tapped the counter lightly, just once, his fingers drumming against the surface. The sound pulled the man’s attention back, his eyes flicking toward Noah’s face. Whatever he saw made him decide not to ask questions.

He swiped the card, handed over a key, and nodded toward the hall.

“Second floor,” he muttered.

Noah picked up the key and turned, already heading toward the exit. He didn’t check if she was following.

He didn’t need to.

Vivian’s legs moved mechanically, her feet barely making a sound against the tile as she trailed behind him.

The hallway smelled worse than the lobby. Cigarette smoke lingered in the walls, soaked into the carpet. Somewhere down the hall, a woman was laughing, the sound muffled through one of the closed doors.

The stairs creaked under their weight as they climbed.

Vivian stared at the back of Noah’s head, watching the easy way he moved, the confidence in his stride.

Like he belonged here.

Like she belonged here.

The thought made her stomach turn.

When they reached the door, Noah slid the key into the lock, turning it with a quiet click.

Then he pushed it open and stepped inside.

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Vivian didn’t move.

Her fingers curled tighter into the sleeves of his jacket.

Noah let the silence stretch.

Then, without looking back, he said simply, “Get in.”

Vivian didn’t move.

The door hung open in front of her, revealing the dimly lit motel room beyond. It was small, cramped—just a single bed with stiff white sheets, a scratched-up nightstand, and a flickering lamp in the corner. A thin curtain covered the window, stained yellow from years of cigarette smoke, the edges curling like something had tried to claw its way in or out.

It smelled like cheap air freshener trying and failing to mask something older, something rotting in the bones of the building.

Noah stepped inside without hesitation, tossing the key onto the nightstand with a dull clack.

Vivian remained in the hallway, her feet refusing to cross the threshold.

Noah exhaled, amused.

“Are you expecting an invitation?” He turned slightly, eyes flicking toward her, half-lidded, patient. “Or are you planning to stand there all night?”

Her fingers clenched around the jacket.

She knew—she knew—that if she stepped inside, something would shift.

That if she followed him through that door, there would be no undoing it.

Noah watched her hesitation, his smirk deepening. “Do you want me to carry you in?”

She moved before she could think, before she could let him take that choice away from her. Her steps were stiff, mechanical, but she crossed the threshold, stepping into the dim light of the motel room.

The door swung shut behind her with a quiet click.

Noah didn’t lock it.

He didn’t need to.

Vivian stood motionless, her pulse a sharp, steady beat against her ribs. The room was suffocatingly silent.

She turned toward him slowly. “Why are we here?”

Noah gave her a look that made it clear the question amused him.

“You need to clean up,” he said simply, gesturing lazily toward the bathroom.

Vivian swallowed.

The blood.

It had dried in thick, dark patches along her skin, soaked into the fabric of her clothes, staining her.

She felt it now more than before. The way it clung to her, the way it itched, the way it wouldn’t let her forget.

Noah reached into a duffel bag—his duffel bag, she realized—and pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes. He tossed them onto the bed, his smirk unwavering.

“Wear those.”

Vivian stared at the clothes.

Then back at him.

Noah’s gaze flickered downward, trailing over her slowly, deliberately, like he was taking her apart, piece by piece, without touching her at all.

He didn’t turn away.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t give her any space.

Vivian’s breath came slower now, the air in the room heavier than before.

Noah tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the air shift.

“What?” he murmured. “You want me to help?”

Something sharp dug into her spine.

Heat crawled up her neck—not from embarrassment, but from the way he said it, from the way his amusement lingered in the air, thick and cloying.

Her hands curled into fists. “Get out.”

Noah chuckled, slow, deeply entertained.

“Relax,” he said, finally turning away, strolling toward the chair in the corner with infuriating ease. “I’m not interested.”

Vivian flinched.

He sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him, completely unbothered as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the screen. “I just like watching you squirm.”

Her stomach twisted.

She grabbed the clothes and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.