His room was small, and sparse compared to the rest of his apartment, with only the bed and a dresser in it. He hadn’t bothered to pull down the shade on his window, which she found interesting. He either slept through the sun rising, or he used it as an alarm clock. It also fascinated her that she couldn’t hear him breathing. He made no sound at all, and given his angle, she couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest. It was utterly silent, and he wasn’t moving.

Maybe he was dead. Not that there was cause for death, since he had been alive and well a mere three hours earlier, but once the idea took root, Sara couldn’t shake it. It was possible. Anything was possible. And he wasn’t making any sound at all. What if she moved around the front of him, and found that he had been stabbed? Throat slit. Blood could be all over the bed, and she wouldn’t be able to see it from where she was. He could be dead, cold, his eyes wide open, glassy and empty.

She knew she had to be overreacting, knew he couldn’t possibly have been murdered while she was sleeping on the couch. But then again, he didn’t lock his doors, and she had been down for the count, sleeping hard and deep. If his throat had been slit, he wouldn’t have made any noise.

Bile rising into her mouth, Sara knew she couldn’t leave the room until she saw for herself that Gabriel was alive and well and fast asleep. Heart pounding, she moved forward, her palms sweaty, her sandals outrageously loud in the silence of the dark. She felt like she was going to throw up as she moved around the foot of his bed, not wanting to touch him, or lean over his back. Touch was too intimate, and she needed to see first, to process if the unspeakable had happened. Closing her eyes briefly, she moved between his bed and the window, shuffling so she didn’t trip on anything he had on the floor.

Then bracing herself, she turned and forced herself to look at the front of Gabriel, terrified of finding the worst. Almost sick with relief, she saw that his throat hadn’t been slit. There was no blood anywhere. And he was very much alive, his hand shifting slightly on his pillow.

“Thank God,” she whispered, holding her chest with her right hand. He was fine. Everything was fine. She needed to get a grip, stop seeing danger and death around every corner. And most of all, she needed to get out of his bedroom before he realized she was standing there staring at him.

Stepping back, Sara bumped the radiator. It didn’t make much of a sound, but a glance back at the bed showed Gabriel’s eyes open, blinking at her.