We both settled into a comfortable silence. The window beside us was fogged from the contrast outside—snow drifting down lightly now that the wind had finally calmed. Peaceful. Calming. And for the first time in hours, my brain wasn't screaming mole, mole, mole.
But then the thought of that damn 10B footage shoved its way back in. Reid had lied—why? Was he really the mole? The one loose thread left to pull?
I pushed the thoughts away and finished my drink. Kayla noticed and glanced over.
"How's the mocha?" she asked.
"Cold," I said.
She flicked her finger against her steaming cup.
"How's the black coffee?" I asked.
"Hot."
She smirked. I chuckled.
"Well," I said, stretching a bit, "if I wake up with a sore throat tomorrow, I'm coming after you."
"Yeah, unless the storm kills me first," she teased back.
"Stop worrying about it," I said. "Is your apartment really that ba—"
"Yes." She cut me off immediately. "It is that bad."
