The door shut behind her, sealing her inside the too-small bathroom.

Vivian exhaled sharply, pressing her hands against the sink’s edge, fingers curled tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

She needed to clean up. Now.

She twisted the faucet, and the pipes groaned before a stream of cold water sputtered out. The sink was old, the porcelain cracked near the drain, rust staining the edges. It didn’t matter. She shoved her hands beneath the stream, scrubbing furiously.

The water turned pink.

Her pulse spiked.

More. Harder.

She dug her nails into her palms, rubbing until her skin burned, until the scent of metal started to fade, until—

Knock, knock.

She jolted so violently that she almost knocked the faucet loose.

Noah’s voice came too clearly, cutting through the thin barrier between them like he was standing right beside her.

“I said shower.”

Her stomach twisted, nausea curling up her throat.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

The silence stretched.

Then—

A quiet chuckle. Low. Pleased.

“You’re not going to make me come in there and do it for you, are you?”

Vivian whirled toward the door, pulse hammering against her ribs.

“You’re disgusting,” she snapped, too sharp, too fast—too rattled.

Noah laughed.

Not loud. Not cruel.

Just pleased.

“I was kidding,” he said smoothly, but the amusement in his voice made it so much worse.

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

She turned the shower knob without thinking, without looking, just needing to drown him out, drown this out, drown everything out. The pipes groaned, and steam rose immediately, filling the tiny space, making the air thick, too warm, too close.

She wasn’t alone, but she was.

She wasn’t safe, but somehow she was still standing.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the hem of her shirt, peeling the ruined fabric away from her skin.

The moment it hit the floor, she felt the weight of everything.

Noah’s voice was gone.

But she could still feel him.

Right outside the door.

Waiting.

Vivian stepped out of her jeans, kicking them aside. The air against her bare skin was too cold, a sharp contrast to the thick, humid steam curling through the cramped bathroom. She avoided looking at herself in the warped mirror, her gaze locked on the shower instead, on the water running in steady streams down the mold-stained tile.

She wasn’t clean yet.

She wouldn’t feel clean for a long time.

But she could pretend for now.

Her fingers found the clasp of her bra, unfastening it with stiff, mechanical movements. It slid down her arms, joining the pile of ruined clothing at her feet.

Then she stepped inside.

The heat hit her immediately, scalding against her raw skin, turning the blood against her arms into red streaks that trailed down the drain. She let her head dip forward, hands bracing against the wall, the water rushing over her like it could scrub everything away.

It couldn’t.

The blood was gone.

The memory wasn’t.

The weight of the hammer in her hands.

The crunch of bone.

The way Vince’s body had collapsed.

Her stomach clenched, nausea crawling up her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus on the sensation of the water, the pressure against her skin, the way it burned at the edges of her fingers.

She didn’t know how long she stood there before she turned toward the soap, grabbing it with too much force, trying to erase every trace of the night from her body.

She scrubbed her arms, her neck, her face.

The scent of cheap motel soap mixed with the faint metallic tang of what wasn’t there anymore.

She kept going.

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Harder.

Faster.

Until her skin burned and her hands ached and she could almost pretend she wasn’t still dirty.

Almost.

Somewhere outside, beyond the thin motel walls, a car rumbled past. A door slammed. The world was still moving, still functioning, oblivious to the fact that hers had stopped entirely.

And outside the bathroom door—

Noah was waiting.

She didn’t have to see him to know.

She could feel it.

She could feel him.

Sitting, relaxed, probably scrolling through his phone like they hadn’t just left a murder scene. Like she hadn’t just—

Vivian inhaled sharply, tilting her head back beneath the stream, drowning the thought before it could take root.

She couldn’t stay in here forever.

But she didn’t know what waited for her on the other side of that door.

The water had long since gone from scalding to merely hot, but she stayed under it anyway, dragging out the inevitable.

Her hands pressed against the tile, fingers trembling, breath coming in slow, uneven pulls. The steam was thick, curling in the cramped space, wrapping around her like a second skin.

She had scrubbed until her arms ached.

Her skin was raw, tinged pink from the heat, from the pressure she had used, but no matter how hard she tried—it wasn’t enough.

The blood was gone.

The memory wasn’t.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself, and turned off the water.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then, outside, she heard the faint shift of movement.

She wasn’t alone.

Not really.

Noah was still out there.

Waiting.

She grabbed a towel off the rack, wrapping it tightly around herself before stepping out of the shower. The air hit her immediately—cold, sharp, invasive—raising goosebumps along her arms, making her shiver as she bent down to pick up the clothes he had left for her.

A plain t-shirt, black, slightly oversized. Sweatpants.

His.

The fabric was soft, worn, holding his scent like an imprint—clean, crisp, something undeniably him. She hesitated for a split second, fingers clenching around the material before she forced herself to move, forcing herself not to think.

She slipped the shirt over her head, the fabric falling lower on her frame than it should have. The sweatpants followed, loose at the waist.

Everything about it felt wrong.

Everything about this was wrong.

She faced the door, her hands hovering over the knob.

Her pulse thrummed beneath her skin, sharp and unsteady.

She didn’t want to open it.

Didn’t want to see what was waiting for her.

But she didn’t have a choice.

She turned the handle.

The door swung open.

Noah was sitting in the chair by the window, one arm slung over the back, legs stretched out, his phone in his hand. The screen cast a faint glow across his face, but the moment the door opened, his attention snapped to her.

His eyes flicked down, slowly, taking her in.

A once-over. A deliberate pause.

Then a nod of approval.

“Much better.”

Vivian clenched her fists.

She should have snapped at him, should have told him to go to hell, should have done something.

But she was too tired, too drained, and he knew it.

As Vivian stepped out of the bathroom, towel still clutched tightly around her shoulders, she caught sight of Noah tossing something onto the nightstand.

Her phone.

Her keys.

For a second, she just stared at them, as if her brain couldn’t connect the objects to herself.

Noah barely spared her a glance. “You dropped them earlier,” he said, too casually, like he hadn’t been holding onto them this entire time.

Vivian swallowed, stepping closer. Her fingers hesitated over the phone.

“Don’t turn it on,” Noah said.

She froze.

His voice was calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

“Not until you’re back at your dorm,” he clarified, his tone smooth, mockingly patient, like he was reminding her of something obvious. “Unless you want to leave a nice little trail back to yourself.”

Vivian’s stomach twisted.

She snatched the phone off the nightstand, gripping it tight enough that her knuckles went white.

Noah just smirked, leaning back into the chair like this was all so predictable.

The smirk on his lips deepened.

He patted the bed once, lazily. “Sit.”

She didn’t move.

Noah sighed through his nose, tilting his head. “I didn’t say sleep.” His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. “Just sit.”

Vivian’s stomach twisted.

She had no reason to listen to him.

No reason at all.

And yet—

She moved.

One step, then another, until she sat on the edge of the bed, stiff, coiled, waiting.

Noah watched her, his lips twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“Relax,” he said, voice light, mocking.

She didn’t.

Noah leaned back in his chair, stretching like this was nothing more than a quiet evening in. His dark eyes flicked toward her, scanning, waiting, that lazy smirk never leaving his face.

Vivian sat rigid on the edge of the bed, damp hair sticking to her skin, his clothes too soft, too warm, a lingering reminder of how far she had fallen into this moment with him.

She shouldn’t be here.

She should have run.

She should be screaming.

But she sat.

Noah tapped his fingers against the armrest, watching her squirm before finally exhaling, as if giving her a small mercy.

“You need to go home.”

Vivian blinked.

The words didn’t make sense.

She had been following him, listening to him, doing what he said—and now, just like that, he was done?

Her throat felt dry. “What?”

Noah stood, stretching his arms. Moving on.

“Go home.” He rolled his shoulders, fixing his sleeves like he hadn’t just said something absurd. “Sleep. Eat. Act normal.”

Vivian didn’t move.

Her mind felt distant, floating outside of her body, unable to connect to the world in front of her.

Go home?

How?

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his sweatpants, the ones she was still wearing, still smelling like him, and she struggled to remember where she even lived.

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair like he was bored now. “Go to class.” He stepped toward the door. “Cry when the news breaks.”

He pulled the key from his pocket.

“Be boring.” He turned the knob. Then, lighter, almost an afterthought—“Aren’t you good at that?”

Vivian’s chest hollowed out.

He opened the door.

The cold air hit her immediately, but she didn’t stand.

Not at first.

Noah waited. Barely.

Her legs moved before she understood why, because she had been moving every time he told her to.

She stepped forward, past him, into the doorway.

The night outside was vast, stretching around her, too open, too directionless.

She stared at the sidewalk, at the empty parking lot, at the streets beyond it.

Where was she supposed to go?

She couldn’t remember the way back to campus, couldn’t remember which bus she usually took, couldn’t even remember if she had a house key.

A thought flickered, vague, distant.

She should ask him—Noah, how do I get home?

But before she could say a word—

The door slammed shut.

The sound rattled through her bones.

The sudden, jarring absence of him punched through her like a hollow echo.

The motel door didn’t open again.

No goodbye.

No lingering presence.

No Noah.

Just cold air and empty streets.

Vivian took a step forward. Then another.

Then she realized—

She didn’t know where she was going.