You’d been standing here for exactly forty-seven seconds. Long enough to hear the muffled giggle from behind Caleb’s door. A female giggle.

Alex and Andrew were flanking you, phones held aloft just moments ago, grins plastered on their faces. Those grins had frozen, then slowly melted away.

Your knuckles hit the door again, harder this time. The sound echoed in the silent hallway. Andrew slowly lowered his phone, slipping it into his pocket. Alex followed, his blue eyes wide with dawning horror.

You knocked a third time. The door flew inward.

Caleb stood there, bare-chested, wearing nothing but a pair of grey boxers. His dark, curly hair was mussed. A flush of irritation was quickly bleached from his face, replaced by a sheer, bloodless panic.

Over his shoulder, in the dim room, a girl with tousled blonde hair yanked his rumpled duvet up to her chin, her eyes wide as saucers.

The overnight bag you’d carried from the airport felt like it was filled with lead. The surprise—the acceptance letter, the secret planning, the fourteen-hour flight—turned to ash in your mouth.