Page 22 of Paws & Order

I double-checked the wards last night.

Then I triple-checked them because I'm like this now.

If someone got in, it's because I'm coming undone, not because I missed a lock.

Except there's the coin.

Yesterday there were three, stacked like a joke on my windowsill.

Now there are four.

The new one is gold and heavy, and I know for certain I didn't own it because it's the kind of thing Cassian would notice and roll his eyes about. Also because I would have thrown it into my "junk that may be cursed" drawer just to be safe.

I stare at the coin until my scalp prickles.

There's a point where fear crosses from adrenaline into a hollow, high-pitched plane of clarity.

I hit it the second I see the coin.

The only thing stronger than my need for independence is my desire not to die at the hands of a supernatural creep.

So I do what any rational adult would do.

I call Cassian.

He answers before the second ring, his voice a low rasp.

"Liza. Did something happen?"

I want to make a joke, but all that comes out is:

"It's here again."

He's at my door in under three minutes, which is impressive even by Cassian standards unless he'd already been hanging around the block.

He doesn't knock.

He just does that controlled-wrecking-ball thing where he opens the door with barely restrained force and scans the room, not even pretending to look casual.

"What do you see?" he asks, stepping into my personal space like a human shield.

I wave a hand toward the table.

"Flowers are the same. Book moved. Remote moved. Gomez's mouse is next-level weird."

I fetch the coin and hold it up between us.

"This wasn't here last night."

He studies it, nostrils flaring.

"You touch anything else?"

I almost laugh because it feels like an accusation, but there's nothing funny about the way he's examining every sight line and every corner of the room.

"No. I just... noticed."

He crouches and runs a gloved hand along the leg of the table, as if dust might reveal prints. Like the suspect would be that stupid.