<b>Chapter </b><b>56 </b>
:
<b>93 </b>
A soft knock on the hotel suite door pulled me from my light sleep. I’d returned to bed hours ago after my midnight excursion<b>, </b>careful not to wake Ethan who seemed to be sleeping on the couch.
Through the slightly open bedroom door, I heard Connor’s voice: “Sir, I need to-”
“Not now,” Ethan cut him off firmly.
I stretched and got up, pulling my fingers through my tangled brown hair. Might as well face the <b>day</b>. I opened the door fully and stepped out of the bedroom, wearing the silk robe Ethan had provided. The morning sunlight filtered through the half–drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the
luxurious suite.
Connor’s reaction was immediate and intense. His expression contorted into something between shock and horror as he looked at me emerging from his boss’s bedroom, then back at Ethan who was fully dressed and appeared to have been awake for hours. His mouth opened and closed several times
before any words came out.
“She<b>–</b>she…” Connor stammered, apparently unable to form aplete sentence. The vein in his forehead pulsed visibly as his face flushed crimson.
I gave him a cold nce as I walked toward the suite’s coffee machine. Poor guy probably thought I’d spent the night with his precious boss. The thought almost made me smile. I could practically hear the gears in his head grinding to a halt as he tried to process what he was seeing.
“Good morning, Miss Morgan,” Ethan said smoothly, not a hint of difort in his voice. “Did you sleep well?”
I poured myself a cup of coffee before answering, inhaling the rich aroma that filled the air. “Well enough. How was the couch? Not exactly the luxury you’re ustomed to, I imagine.” I took a deliberate sip, watching Connor over the rim of my cup.
Connor’s <b>eyes </b>widened further, darting between Ethan and me like a tennis spectator on amphetamines. <b>The </b>mental gymnastics ying out on his face were almost entertaining enough to
make this whole charade worthwhile.
“I’ve <b>slept </b>in worse conditions,” Ethan replied, his expression revealing nothing. He folded the newspaper he’d been reading and set it aside. “Military training tends to cure one of needing
excessivefort.”
7:56 Fri, Sep 19
I arched an eyebrow at that interesting tidbit but filed it away forter analysis. “I’m sure you have.”
Ethan watched me over his tablet. “You gave me quite a startst night.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Did I?”
“When you got up in the middle of the night,” he rified. “Do you often sleepwalk?”
I set my cup down, meeting his gaze directly. My mind raced through possible responses, calcting the best approach. “Sleepwalk? No, not that I’m aware of.”
“Interesting.” Ethan tilted his head slightly. “Around two in the morning, you were standing in front
of the couch, just… staring at me.”
His tone suggested he didn’t believe for a second that I had been sleepwalking. He was testing me, watching for my reaction. Those green eyes missed nothing, analyzing every micro–expression that
crossed my face.
I shrugged, maintaining a perfectly calibrated level of casual indifference. “Strange. I don’t remember that at all. Did I do anything else embarrassing I should know about?”
“No,” Ethan said, his eyes never leaving mine. “You just stood there,pletely still. Like you were
deciding something.”
The tension in the room thickened. Connor shifted ufortably, tugging at his cor as if it had suddenly tightened around his neck.
Connor cleared his throat, clearly ufortable with whatever was happening between us. “Sir, if I
could have a moment of your time–it’s rather urgent.”
“Of course,” Ethan replied, finally breaking our eye contact. “Miss Morgan, please make yourself
They stepped toward the suite’s entrance, speaking in hushed tones. I pretended to focus on my coffee<b>, </b>leaning against the counter in a pose of rxation while stretching my enhanced hearing to
its limits.
“Those men we spottedst night–they’ve been identified,” Connor whispered urgently. “They’re with Apex Tactical Group.”
“Apex Tactical Group?” Ethan asked, his voice dropping even lower.
7:57 Fri<b>, </b>Sep 19
“Yes, sir. About twenty of them checked into the hotel. They’re on the floor below us, watching the elevators. Their presence coincides exactly with our arrival.”
“Interesting timing,” Ethan murmured, ncing briefly in my direction.
“Sir, I don’t understand why professional mercenaries would be tracking…” Connor hesitated, ncing in my direction. “…a high school student.”
93
I suppressed a smile while taking another sip of coffee. If only he knew who he was really dealing with. The coffee was excellent–dark and rich with hints of chocte and cherry. Even in dangerous
situations, I appreciated quality.
“Have they made any moves?” Ethan asked.
“No, sir. Just surveince so far. But they’re heavily armed. My team spotted at least three men with concealed submachine guns.”
“Keep our security detail alert,” Ethan instructed. “And Connor, I’d like to know more about Apex’s
recent activities.”
They returned to where I was sitting, Connor still looking at me with barely concealed suspicion. His right hand kept drifting toward his jacket–where he undoubtedly carried a weapon.
“Shall we have breakfast?” Ethan suggested, his tone conversational as if we were on a casual vacation. “The hotel restaurant is quite good.”
“Lead the way,” I replied, rising from my seat. “Just give me a few minutes to get dressed.”
Walking into the hotel restaurant felt like entering a lion’s den. The spacious dining area was crowded, but not with the usual tourists or business travelers, Nearly every table was upied by hard–faced men with military postures and vignt eyes–mercenaries from around the world, all in
town for La Corona.
Conversations dimmed as we entered. I felt dozens of eyes tracking our movement across the room. The air seemed to thicken with testosterone and hostility. Ethan, either oblivious or indifferent to the attention, led us to a table near the center of the restaurant.
“Quite the crowd this morning,” hemented casually as a waiter pulled out my chair.
7:57 Fri, Sep 19
“La Corona brings all sorts to town,” I replied, unfolding my napkin and cing it on myp with
deliberate precision.
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I scanned the room methodically, identifying threats by priority. In the far corner sat a group of six men, their muscr builds and matching wristwatches marking them as Apex Tactical Group operatives. Their eyes burned with undisguised hostility as they tracked my every movement. One of
them—a particrly bulky specimen with a scar running down his arm–whispered something to his
<b>“</b>Acquaintances of yours?” Ethan asked, following my gaze to the Apex table.
“Not particrly,” I replied, picking up the menu and studying it with feigned interest.
“They seem very interested in you,” he observed. “The way they’re looking at you… it’s almost
personal.”
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