Page 84 of Fatality

A laugh escapes me.

This is ridiculous, how exactly am I supposed to punch a ghost?

I climb out of bed and walk over to my dresser, open it and start peeling off my clothes.

I'd fallen asleep on the couch wearing them, and now they feel uncomfortable against my skin.

I unclasp my bra and toss it aside before pulling out a hoodie. It's oversized, almost absurdly so but there's something reassuring about it.

I pull it on, hood included, then climb back into bed.

It wraps around me like a cocoon. The hood stays on, it's comforting and it keeps spiders from crawling into my ears while I sleep.

Again, completely ridiculous.

I know spiders aren't secretly waiting for me to fall asleep so they can invade my ears.

That doesn't stop the thought from existing, so the hood stays on.

I drift back to sleep.

I jolt awake an hour later, there's a noise downstairs.

Am I fucking crazy or is there really someone in my home?

How?

The door is locked, only my palm print can open it or you need to have my passcode.

The building's security is supposed to be airtight.

So how?

I stop breathing literally, the sound comes again.

I can hear footsteps, distinct footsteps. Then curses, muttered under someone's breath.

My entire body freezes, every muscle locking in place as adrenaline floods my system.

Someone is downstairs, in my loft.

I should call the Enforcers. I should grab my comm and get whoever broke into my home arrested.

But calling the Enforcers before even making sure someone is actually here and finding out who it is would be insane.

I could get Jules or Charlie arrested if I don't check.

Even Liam.

I'm being stupid. I'm probably about to get myself killed. I hate being woken up suddenly.

Even more when someone invades my personal space and probably starts rummaging through my stuff.

Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand.

I tiptoe toward the railing of my mezzanine and carefully peer down into the loft below.

I don't see anyone but I know someone's here.