You’ve been standing here for exactly forty-seven seconds. The air feels thick, charged. Your suitcase is a dead weight beside your leg.

From behind the door, marked 307 in peeling numbers, a girl’s laugh cuts through the wood. High, bright, unfamiliar. It’s followed by the low, warm rumble of a voice you’d know anywhere.

You raise your fist. Knock. Once. Twice. The sound is absurdly loud in the quiet hall.

A scramble. A thud. A hissed curse. The door is yanked inward.

Liam stands in the doorway, bare-chested, wearing only a pair of grey boxers. His dark hair is mussed. Behind him, in the disheveled bed, a girl with tousled brown hair is clutching his duvet to her chin, her eyes wide.

All the color drains from Liam’s face. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The panic in his hazel eyes is instant and absolute.