Chapter 9
The battery warning came up at the worst possible second.
I had the phone angled down against my right thigh, screen brightness all the way down, thumb hovering over the voice memo file I'd never closed. Nine percent. Red numbers in the corner. Low Battery. And under it, smaller text I could barely read: Low Power Mode.
I didn't react. I let my hand go slack and slid the phone another inch under the sequins of my dress. The white fabric caught the light and threw it back, and for a second the screen's glow disappeared. My heart was beating so loud I thought the man in the black suit would hear it from where he leaned on the couch.
He was still there, left side, fist on the back cushion. The older man hadn't moved from the center. The blond man was in the same spot on the right, hands in his pockets like he was trying to look uninvolved. The lamp on the side table threw that warm golden light across all of us, and the chandelier hummed overhead.
I dimmed the screen with my thumb. One swipe, brightness slider down until the display was almost black. Then I turned the phone face-down against my leg. The red warning vanished under the sequins. Hidden, but still there, still counting down.
That's when I saw the outlet.
It was low on the wall right behind the side table, half-hidden by the lamp cord and the vase with the white roses. Cream cover plate, the same color as the wall. A black charging cable was already plugged into the bottom socket, coiled behind the lamp base. Probably for the lamp, or for someone to charge a phone without tripping across the rug. It was maybe two feet from my elbow.
I could reach it if I stretched. But I couldn't stand. I couldn't make it obvious.
I shifted my weight. Just a little, like I was trying to get comfortable. My shoulder moved against the arm of that cream damask couch. The tufting pressed into my back.
The man in the black suit noticed immediately.
"You okay?" he said. His voice was low, like he was trying to sound caring.
I didn't answer at first. I let a breath out slow, like I was still trying to steady myself from crying. "My legs are cold," I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "And — my earring's catching."
I lifted my left hand to my right ear, fingers touching the teardrop crystal earring. It was a real thing, it had been tugging all night, but I made it more than it was. I winced a little, tugged at it.
The older man's eyes didn't move to me directly. I saw it in the gold-framed mirror on the wall behind him. He was watching my reflection. His arms were still crossed, that large square silver ring with the black onyx stone catching the light on his left hand. His head was turned just enough to keep me in the mirror's frame while looking like he stared past me.
He saw everything from that angle. The way my right hand was pinned under my dress. The slight bulge where the phone sat against my thigh.
I needed a reason to move and to cover the phone at the same time.
"Could I have a blanket?" I asked. I looked at the man in the black suit, not at the older man. "Please. I'm freezing."
For a second nobody moved. The blond man glanced at the older man, waiting for a cue.
The older man gave a small nod. "Get her the throw from the chair," he said. His voice was even, controlled.
The man in the black suit pushed off the couch. He turned toward the armchair near the hallway, where a folded cream throw was draped over the arm. That put his back to me for maybe four seconds.
Four seconds was enough.
I slid my right hand under the small pillow at my side, the one with the tassels. My fingers found the charging cable behind the lamp without looking. I pulled just enough slack, maybe eight inches, and dragged it under the edge of the pillow. Then, in one motion, I tipped the phone on its side, plugged the connector in with my thumb, and pushed the whole thing under the pillow.
The screen lit up for half a second when it connected. Charging. 9%. I shoved the pillow down harder, sequins scraping against cotton, until the light was smothered.
By the time the man in the black suit turned back with the blanket, my hands were empty. One on my earring, one resting on my stomach.
He shook the blanket out and laid it over me. Careful, almost gentle. The weight of it settled over my legs and over the pillow where the phone was now hidden, charging. The cable ran under the throw, invisible against the couch fabric, down to the outlet behind the lamp.
"Better?" he asked.
I nodded. I tucked my left hand under the blanket too, found the warm rectangle of the phone through the pillow cover. It was still there. The faint vibration of the charging pulse buzzed against my palm once, then stopped.
In the mirror, the older man's reflection hadn't changed. But his eyes had shifted. He wasn't watching my face anymore. He was watching the shape under the blanket, the slight unnatural line where the pillow sat higher than it should.
He took a step closer to the couch. Not toward me, toward the side table. He reached out like he was going to adjust the lamp, his left hand with that big square ring hovering near the shade, near the cord, near my cord.
My breath stopped.
Then the blond man cleared his throat. "Should we give her some air?" he said quietly. It was the first thing he'd said in a long time.
The older man's hand paused mid-air, then dropped back to his crossed arms. He didn't touch the lamp. He didn't pull the blanket. He just kept watching the mirror.
May you like
Under the sequins and the throw and the pillow, the phone stayed dark and warm against my fingers. Charging, one percent at a time. The evidence was still on it. The text I'd sent earlier was still waiting for an answer I couldn't check yet.
I kept my hand on the pillow and my eyes down, breathing slow, trying to look like a woman who just wanted to be warm.
