He nods too deeply and slowly to be buying my story, surveying the space. There aren’t any windows here. Only a door beyond the kitchen, leading to a bathroom or pantry, probably. He toys with a stack of beer coasters, then marches into the bedroom. After a few seconds, a drawer is opened and shut. He stalks back out, furious.

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?” My hands are full of coupons from the sideboard.

“You lied to me, Shayna. I can’t be here. I’ve seen this girl’s photo on the news—Emmanuelle Wood. She’s missing.” He grinds his teeth, wavering between the exit and the back wall, where I stand. “I’m a fucking embassy employee, Shayna. I can’t be here.”

“Shit.” I smack a hand to my forehead, making a show of it. His eyebrows plunge deeper. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of that. Give me a few minutes, then we’ll leave. Cool?”

“Shayna, no, I can’t. Not cool. You know, for someone who’s gotten the short end of the stick in life—you sure don’t hesitate to poke people with it.” I open my mouth to object, but he lifts a hand to stop me. “I have to leave now. Can’t believe you brought me here.” He uses the bottom part of his shirt to wipe the coasters he had just been touching, then wipes down the doorknob, muttering in French. He knocks it open with his foot.

“Hey, wait—where are you going?”

He turns back, slowly. His eyes narrow, taking me and the scene behind me in. “Somewhere else, Shayna. This is . . . not okay.”

We’ve only known each other a few days, and he’s been beyond helpful to my search even without understanding it fully. He’s the first person I’ve felt some human connection to in a long time. The realization leaves me feeling cold, clammy. Seeing his angry expression now tightens my chest.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Jean-Luc.” The words sound bulky in my mouth, unpracticed and unrehearsed, and he knows it. His face sours like he can see the struggle my tongue makes to wrap around unfamiliar letters. Once, they were familiar. Back when I had anyone to apologize to.

Jean-Luc steps through and shuts the door with his foot as much as it will let him. My chest buckles hearing him clamber down the rickety steps, fills with regret at the greedy impulse to bring him along, knowing full well he could get in trouble if caught. Flickers of panic lick my neck and clench my throat before I push the old emotions back. Jean-Luc won’t forgive me for this. I could see it in the sneer of his mouth.

Fine. Add him to the list.