The grandfather clock said twenty after two a.m. when the bell at Aurora Borealis roused the desk clerk from his slumber.

"I'm sorry, miss." His waffling movement suggested he was trying to see past the hood of Cassie's cloak. "We have no rooms available until morning."

She kept her eyes and chin down. "I'm not here for a room," she replied, hardly above a whisper. "I'm looking for someone who might be staying here."

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a knowing smile, one that insinuated she was either someone else's wife or looking for someone else's husband. "We don't supply the names of our guests to anyone," he recited. "It's policy." He began biting his jagged nails and spitting the pieces on the floor.

Cassie was tired of getting the same empty responses from inept desk clerks all over the city. Since bribery had depleted her of greens, she pulled a jewel from one of her fingers. She slammed it on the desk. For once in her life, she was grateful to have a little essence of Andromeda coursing through her veins. "Will this loosen your foul tongue? All I want is a 'yes' or a 'no.'"

The clerk fumbled for his reservation book with fear in his eyes.

"Christopher MacRae. Is he on your list?"

He skimmed the names, one by one, and so slowly, she could feel herself aging.

"No. There is no one staying here with that name. Sorry."

Her gaze fell and so did what little remained of her morale. Cassie had checked dozens of other inns along The Mainway, but she had a good feeling about Aurora Borealis. She assumed Chris would seek a familiar place, if  he was still in Pyxis. Where else would he go?

He wasn't in the tavern. She had checked already, thoroughly but discreetly. There were only a few patrons left. And she whizzed through, undetected, she hoped. If Vela saw her. If Carina saw her. Or worse, someone who knew her but had no concern for her reputation. And if Christopher turned her away? She'd leave with nothing and would lose everything.

"There is only a Christopher Kincaid," he then supplied. "He's in room 13, southwest."

Cassie dashed into the hallway once she heard the room number. Though the clerk called after her with directions, she neither needed them nor wanted to wait politely to hear them.

She climbed two spiral steps at a time, dizzy and out of breath by the time she reached the third floor. The rooms were all quiet except for the few snores that pierced through the doors and walls.

Cassie arrived at the door to her old room and put her ear to it. She heard nothing. She raised her fist to knock. Then she lowered it. She spent a few moments second-guessing her choice to disturb him. What if Lyra was wrong? What if he doesn't love me?  She would look like such a fool!

She raised her fist again. And if he does love me. . . ?

Chris was being cautious when they had met earlier. There was so much going on and many onlookers. He didn't happen to say the right things. But, then again, she had said all the wrong things, and for the wrong reason. Her anger had many sources and victims, herself included, but he received the brunt of it. And, despite it all, he had made a fair attempt to explain himself and apologize and may have succeeded had she been at all prepared to hear it.

What is wrong with me?

You are your mother's daughter. . . .

Yes, but there has to be some escape, something I can do, someone who can keep me from falling too deep. . . .

So Cassie knocked. She would never forgive herself if she walked away without trying.

She waited for a response. There came no creak, no rustle, no answer.

After a second knock, she reached for the doorknob. Surprisingly, his door was unlocked. She found this very odd. It wouldn't matter what mood or state he was in. He would trust no one.

She opened the door slowly. The light from the lantern in the hallway sconce swept through the room, revealing first, a clear floor, and then an empty bed. Still, she felt inclined to know more and went inside.

The room was not just empty. It looked untouched. The fireplace was free of ashes and there wasn't even a single crinkle on the bedspread.

Suddenly unstable on her feet, she fell into a seated position on the bed. She set her hand down for support and pressed against something hard. She pulled her hand away as if it were sharp—the key.

Her worst fear was true. She glanced back, at the painting on the wall. Her painting. They hadn't changed it. And Chris took one look at it and left. It had to be. . .

He was gone and didn't intend to come back.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Diamante. Haunted.

~

"I am the face you see inside

In your own reflection

The mirror never lies"

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