"Then you'd better start talking."
Ava's words lingered in the air and it was unyielding.
For a moment, the motel lobby fell unnaturally quiet. The flickering light above the reception desk buzzed louder than it should have, casting uneven shadows across the man's face. He stared at Ava with something close to amusement, like she was a curiosity rather than a woman standing on the edge of something dangerous.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't warm or friendly. It was low, scraping, the kind of laugh that crawled under the skin and stayed there.
"You got guts," he said slowly, dragging his eyes over her face again. "I'll give you that."
Ava didn't respond. Her fingers tightened around her phone, but her posture remained steady. She had learned, over the past weeks, that fear didn't always announce itself with shaking hands or tears. Sometimes it sat quietly in your chest, heavy and sharp, daring you to either give in or stand your ground.
Ross shifted beside her.
