Outside their room, Drake froze mid-knock.
His head was down, and his expression was hidden. Eventually, his hand dropped, and he sighed.
He turned around and shuffled downstairs, leaning on the wall. He was a broken mess now, unwilling to drag them down.
...
Debra woke up the next morning, reaching for Marion.
He wasn't there. She bolted upright, threw off the covers, and ran barefoot downstairs, shouting, "Marion?"
In the hall, Marion and Jordan turned as she stumbled in, still in her pajamas.
Marion rushed up, slipping off his slippers for her. "What's with the panic?"
"I didn't see you." She heaved a sigh of relief. "Thought you'd..."
"Any luck?" Jordan asked Kale, who'd just walked in.
Kale shook his head. "Not yet."
"That jerk." Erica fumed. "At a time like this, what's he throwing a fit for?"
She turned to Jordan. "Your guards didn't see him?"
Jordan shook his head. "No chance. He's skilled. If he wants to slip away, no one can spot him."
"Pisses me off." Erica snapped. "His pride will kill him."
"Not necessarily," Jordan said. "He's not reckless. Remember, the mastermind only showed up once to grill Drake about the raw stone. Bet he's using himself as bait."
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