The weight of staying alive

Quinn’s POV:

The drive home is a blur. One sentence keeps replaying in my head.

"Till next time... Quinn."

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. How the hell did he know my name? Did he recognize me from somewhere, or had he known exactly who I was the moment I walked into Nora? And if he did... what did that mean for the investigation?

I force the thought aside with a frustrated exhale.

It doesn't matter. I wasn't there because of Ronan Siren. I was there because of Nora, and Nora had given us absolutely nothing.

The place was spotless, exactly as I'd expected before stepping through its doors. No suspicious activity. No loose ends. Nothing that justified another look.

...Unless Ronan knowing my name wasn't a coincidence.

I groan, rubbing a hand over my face.

"It could be nothing, Quinn. Write the goddamn report and be done with it."

By the time I pull into my apartment building, I've replayed the conversation so many times I can practically hear his voice beside me.

I hate it. The fact that a single conversation could leave me so rattled.

My apartment is as I left it. Small and quiet.

I lock the door behind me, toss my keys onto the counter, getting rid of the jacket I wore.

I stand in the silence, trying to find the comfort that comes with it, and I get it for a few minutes before...

My phone buzzes as Neha, my partner and best friend's, name flashes through the screen.

I answer before it rings again.

"Well?" she asks immediately.

"Nothing," I answer, walking into my bedroom.

"What do you mean by nothing? I've been expecting your call."

I sigh. "The club was clean, Nel. Too clean, in fact."

"No single lead?" Her voice sounds disappointed.

I pause. "...Yeah."

She hums knowingly. "Queen... what is it?" Her name for me bleeding out.

"What do you mean?"

"You hesitated."

"I'm tired."

"You sure? That sounded like there's something else."

"I said I'm tired."

A second of silence passes before she says "Fine. Get some sleep. Don't think I'll let it slide, though."

"Good night, Neha." I cut the call.

I stare at the dark screen for another second before dropping it back to the bed.

I head for my desk, flipping open my laptop.The blank document stares back at me.

Nora Club Investigation Report

My fingers hover over the keyboard.

Club searched. Delete.

No suspicious activity observed. Delete.

Every time I try to focus on the report, my mind drifts somewhere else. To dark eyes that never seemed rushed.

To a smile that felt more like a challenge than friendliness.

To—

I close the report. "What is wrong with you?"

My consciousness takes me to the web, and hours pass as I search for anything connected to Ronan Siren.

And as hours pass, he remains exactly what he appears to be.

Successful businessman and philanthropist.

A man built out of clean edges and polished headlines.

Too clean to be real.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes.

Something about him is wrong. People like that don't exist in this city without a reason.

At least that's what I tell myself for my continuous curiosity about him.

I shut the laptop with more force than necessary.

Enough, I tell myself. We can think of this some other time.

I switch off the desk lamp and start toward my bed.

Ding.The doorbell rings, just once and nothing else.

I stop walking. Who on earth rings a doorbell this late?

I wait, and still silence.

Slowly, I make my way to the front door and look through the peephole.

The hallway is empty. Frowning, I unlock the door.

Still no one. My eyes drop to the ground.

A black envelope rests neatly in the middle of my doormat.

My pulse picks up, and I glance down both ends of the hallway.

Empty.

I pick up the envelope and step back inside, locking the door behind me.

It's heavier than I expected. There's no address on it, no name. Just plain black paper.

I tear the envelope open, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat. Something slips into my hand, and instinct has me jerking back, my fingers loosening around it before I catch it against my palm. It takes a second for my brain to register what I'm holding.

My wallet.

I simply stare at it, my thoughts refusing to catch up.

"...What?"

The word leaves me before I can stop it.

Slowly, I flip it over, running my thumb across the worn leather as though expecting it to become something else.

It doesn't.

It's mine.

I open it almost cautiously. My driver's licence is still tucked behind the clear plastic sleeve. My bank cards are exactly where I left them. My police identification sits untouched beside them. Nothing is missing.

My brow furrows.

When did I...

The memory comes in pieces. Paying for my drink. Sliding the wallet back toward my pocket.

Or... thinking I had.

I reach into the envelope again, convinced there has to be something else. My fingers brush paper instead of cardboard. I pull it free and blink.

There's cash in it, folded neatly.

I don't even think before counting it. Habit takes over, my thumb flicking through each note until I stop.

It's the exact amount I'd spent at Nora.

Something still clings to the notes. A receipt, folded around the cash so neatly that I almost miss it.

Nora. The logo stares back at me in bold print.

A strange feeling settles low in my stomach. Why would anyone go through the trouble of...

I turn the receipt over.

There's two lines written on it.

'Thank you for your company.'

My shoulders loosen before I can stop them. A courtesy note. Strange, but harmless.

Then my eyes drop to the second line.

'I prefer Quinn.'

The air seems to leave the room as the room goes completely still. My gaze drops to the wallet again. My police identification.

Questions hit me one after another.

Who found my wallet?

Did they follow me home?

Or had they simply read my address from my licence?

Neither answer made me feel any better. I read the note again.

'I prefer Quinn.'

For some reason, I read it in Ronan's voice. A slow breath leaves me.

I walk back to the front door and turn the deadbolt until it clicks. The sound feeling louder than it should. My eyes drift back to the receipt lying beside my wallet.

I swallow.

"This..."

My voice is barely above a whisper.

"...is going to be a problem.”