I rolled my eyes and threw my hands up in the air. “See? This is it. Right here. This is why I don’t trust cops. You have the bad guy. You know who he is and where he lives—or at least where he’s hanging out—you know he wants you dead, and yet you let him stay out there to fuck up more lives. Maybe you’re not so yellow after all, Detective.” As if in response to my words, the gray edging that always outlined him grew into more of a shadow.

His lips pulled into a straight line. His shoulders slumped and his stomach hollowed out, as if I’d delivered a physical blow. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “See you at ten.”

He didn’t even wait for me to respond. Just left, letting the door fall shut behind him.

With him gone, I got up and paced the room a few times. Why? Why was I so mean to him? Why did I shit on everyone I could potentially lo—no, I wouldn’t even think the word. The truth was, he was letting a drug dealer sell to kids and was doing nothing about it. To be sworn to fight crime and turning a blind eye to it . . . in my eyes, that wasn’t much better than being the dealer himself.

I went into the bathroom and got a drink, trying to calm myself so I could eat.

I was halfway to the refrigerator when I heard footsteps approach my door and stop, the shadow of feet visible in the crack between the door and the floor. My eyes landed on his jacket, still lying over the luggage rack. I marched over to it, snatched it up, and took it to the door.

“Here, your stupid j—”

But when I opened the door, there was no one there. I had heard footsteps. I hadn’t been imagining that. There had been someone outside my room. I was sure of it.

Distantly, from down the hall, I heard the ding of the elevator arriving. Whoever had been there was leaving. Tossing Chris’s jacket on the floor, I raced down the hall to see who was getting on the elevator. But I was too late. The door slid closed just as I rounded the corner. It was just me and the humming, buzzing soda and ice machines.

My hands and feet went cold. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was someone mistaking my room for theirs.

Or maybe it was Luna.

The elevator was descending; I could see the numbers ticking down. I ran to the stairs and flew down them, my bare feet making slapping sounds on the concrete floors. I was instantly sucking wind, but I couldn’t let the elevator outpace me. I pushed myself to run harder, faster.