Three days after Charles Calloway was arrested, Allison woke up because nothing happened.
No alarm.
No phone ringing.
No gunshot.
No pounding on the door.
No mysterious message containing coordinates.
No countdown appearing on a screen.
Nothing.
Her eyes opened at 5:43 a.m.
She stared at the ceiling.
Then waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Nothing.
Allison frowned.
This was suspicious.
She turned her head.
Lucian slept beside her.
Actually slept.
One arm rested beneath his pillow, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his face lacking the carefully controlled expression he wore during the day.
Allison studied him.
Then looked toward the nightstand.
Her phone was there.
Dark.
She reached for it.
Lucian's voice came from beside her.
"Don't."
Allison froze.
Slowly, she looked at him.
His eyes remained closed.
"You're awake?"
"No."
"You just spoke."
"Sleep talking."
"You're a terrible liar."
"So I've been told."
Allison grabbed her phone.
