Page 86 of Relapse

Dagger’s expression hardens just a fraction.

“No. Surprisingly there were no signs anybody’s been there.”

Relief hits first.

Then something colder settles right behind it.

Temporary relief.

Because all that really means is Dante hasn’t moved yet.

Not that he won’t.

Dagger notices the shift across my face instantly.

I stare down at the duffle bag in my hands for a second.

My life.

Stuffed into black fabric.

Tiny.

Portable.

Disposable.

Very on brand for me lately honestly.

“Well,” I mutter lightly while forcing the heaviness back down where it belongs, “love that my entire existence currently fits in a gym bag. Really aspirational.”

Noir snorts quietly from the balcony.

“Your motel room looked like a gas station dumpster with plumbing.”

“That’s rude.”

“How were you even surviving?” he mutters. “There was a family-sized bag of Cheetos, three empty energy drinks beside the bed, and absolutely nothing else.”

“I was thriving.”

“There was a traffic cone in the shower.”

I blink once.

“…okay honestly I can explain that.”

Dagger shakes his head slowly like I’m personally exhausting him.

“I don’t even wanna know.”

“Well shit,” Noir mutters from the balcony around his cigarette, “I do.”

Dagger points at him immediately without even looking up.

“Don’t.”

The warning in his voice only makes my grin bigger.