I take off Michael's clothes and hesitate. No, I can't take them with me. I fold them neatly, placing them on the nightstand before slipping into my own clothes—a pair of thermal leggings and a sweatshirt. Seattle can get really chilly at night.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I grunt at the weight. The canned meals inside feel heavier than before, but I don't dare leave them behind.
Moving carefully, I open my door just a crack and peek into the hallway.
It's empty.
Still, I tiptoe down it, just in case Michael is a light sleeper. As I descend the stairs, I wince at the motion-activated lights flicking on with each step. My breath catches, and I glance behind me, half-expecting to see Michael standing there, frowning at me.
But he's not there.
Good. …Then why do I feel a little disappointed? What the hell, Gianna?
