Page 144 of Detectives in Love
Everything comes into focus—the walls, the chandelier, the faint smell of soap and fabric softener, Xavier’s warm breathagainst my skin, his arm heavy across my waist, the weight of the comforter pressing us together.
I turn my head toward him—but he’s asleep. His breathing is steady, and I realize it was just a very confusing, vivid dream. Still, my heart beats too fast.
It’s warm in the room, and I lie there still for a second, trying to calm down. Then I slowly ease out of Xavier’s hold and reach for my phone near the pillow. I squint at the screen as I press the button.
3:15.
I set the phone on the nightstand and lie back down, staring into the dark, listening to Xavier’s breathing. I stay like that for what feels like half an hour, chasing sleep that won’t come.
Just as my eyes begin to drift shut, a sharp sound slices through the apartment.
I jolt upright. That wasn’t a dream.
I freeze, straining to hear anything else—but there’s only silence.
“Newt?” Xavier stirs beside me, his hand brushing my elbow. His voice is rough with sleep. “You okay?..”
“Yeah,” I whisper, still staring into the dark. “I heard something…”
He shifts, pushing himself up.
“What?..”
“I don’t know,” I murmur—but I’m sure I didn’t imagine it.
I throw back the comforter and sit at the edge of the bed, every sense on high alert. Xavier sits up too, listening with me.
The apartment is well soundproofed—we never hear neighbors or cars from outside—so whatever it was, it came from inside.
For a minute, we don’t speak or move. Logic tells me it might’ve been my overtired brain misfiring after the kind of day we’ve had—but something deeper, instinctive, says otherwise.
“I think there might be someone in the apartment,” I whisper, barely audible. “I’ll go check.”
But as soon as I start to get up, I catch Xavier moving beside me. He pushes the comforter aside and rises too.
I pad to the door, my bare feet silent against the floor, and Xavier follows without a word. I ease the bedroom door open, and we step out into the pitch-black corridor.
We reach the end and stop in the shadows by the kitchen entrance, staring into the dark shape of the room. It looks empty, but we stay frozen, waiting—for movement, for breath, for anything from the living room beyond.
Nothing.
Just my heartbeat thudding against my ribs, and Xavier’s tight, controlled breathing right behind me.
A full minute creeps by before I take a couple of slow steps forward and cross the kitchen. But just as I’m about to step onto the threshold of the living room, Xavier catches my elbow, stopping me in place.
I turn my head to him, confused—then I hear it. A sound slicing through the silence. Footsteps. In the living room.
I freeze.
There’s no mistaking it now. Someone’s in our apartment.
Moving carefully, I peer through the doorway. By the coffee table, with his back to us, stands a dark figure.
I take another step. Xavier follows, silent.
Then it happens. A floorboard under my foot creaks—sharp, loud, breaking the quiet like glass.
The intruder spins around, startled, eyes locking with mine behind a mask.
