Ever grunts and stills, looking around the dark room.

My ears prick, and I strain to work out if I’m hearing what I think I’m hearing. It’s hard to know out here. Everything feels so loud. The wind. The rodents that have made this place their home. Each scuffing footstep we take.

What sounds like muffled voices comes again.

“That? Did you hear it?”

“Nope.”

Fucking weird. I could have sworn I heard something, but maybe it’s the billion and one thoughts tearing up my brain. Ever knows what he’s doing, and I need to trust that.

I don’t like this much. It’s such a new and weird feeling to be so actively worried about someone. I fumble through life. I don’t think, I just do, and it’s gotten me to where I am and—other than the whole wanted dead thing—I like where I am.

My life is chill and cruisey and fun. And it will be all those things and more in some distant future where St. Clare and I can put this behind us and have awesome lives together. We just need to find this annoying, pesky, troublesome brother of his so I can have a few stern words with him about leaving us hanging and then introduce myself as his possibly new future brother-in-law. Which may or may not be getting ahead of myself, but what’s the point of being in a relationship if you’re not going to close your eyes and jump?

My ears prick as that sound comes again.

“I swear there’s someone here.”

Ever tilts his head like having one ear higher than the other will help him hear better. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I take a moment to listen again. “This way, maybe …”

I take a sharp right. We’re on the second floor of a huge warehouse, and other than packing boxes, machinery, and a room full of desks and computers, the place looks sparse.

It’s weird to think that we’re breaking and entering, though I maintain we haven’t broken anything since the place was unlocked, when I’m such an upstanding citizen most of the time. Well, when I’m not shooting at people and taking money for hypothetical kills.

I’m glad that my two victims before St. Clare had the good sense to stay hidden. I really didn’t want to have to explain to Luther that I actually botched all the jobs he’s given me.

We creep around another corner, and there’s still nothing. It doesn’t make sense. I would have put money down that I could hear someone, but the further we look, the less I can hear.

Did I imagine it?

I’d like to confidently say no, but I’m not so sure I trust my thoughts enough for that.