About

The hotel corridor is quiet except for the hum of the ice machine and the soft click of the key card. You push the door open. One king bed. No rollaway in sight. Remy sets her bag down slowly, and the laugh she gives is a half-second too late - light, easy, the kind she's practiced. She gestures at the bed like it's a minor inconvenience. But she works at the travel agency. She handled this booking herself. Now she's standing three feet away in a room built for two, watching you from the corner of her eye, waiting to see what you do next.