Whispered Shadows

Chapter Eleven

Following the Breadcrumbs

Noa

The morning sun filters through the dorm window as I lace up my boots, stealing glances at Ryder. He leans against the desk, his arms crossed, his phone in his hand as he scrolls through some case files. He's focused, as usual, and completely unaware that I'm studying him.

Ryder has always been attractive in that rugged, brooding kind of way that annoys me more than I care to admit. His dark brown hair is longer on top, the curls messy but somehow still deliberate, while the sides are cropped just enough to keep him from looking unkempt. His jade-green eyes, sharp and always watching, remind me of polished stones, cold and unreadable when he's working but softer in those rare moments when he lets his guard down.

His nose is slightly wide, a feature that should feel out of place but doesn't, balanced by the fullness of his lips. His bottom lip is just a bit bigger than his top, a detail I've noticed more than I probably should.

His sharp, angular jaw is covered in dark stubble, the kind that makes him look like he hasn't shaved in days—but I know better. It's purposeful, just like everything else about him.

Then there are his shoulders, broad and strong, leading to arms that strain against the sleeves of his jacket. The man clearly lives in the gym, but it's not just about looking good—everything about him screams discipline and control.

He carries himself stiffly, his posture straight and commanding like he's ready to pounce on danger at any moment. At six feet tall, he towers over me, his presence as intimidating as it is comforting.

But God, is he uptight. Ryder Fox doesn't just walk through life; he marches, with a determination that leaves no room for detours.

"Ready?" His voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize I've been staring.

I know I shouldn't be looking at him like that. He is Gia's bestfriend. He is here helping escape a crazy stalker, once this is all over he is gone. I'll still be here while he does his thing, but I can't help it, he's always been cute, but over the last three years, he has changed. He's hot, so fucking hot.

"Yeah," I say, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. "Let's go find a clue."

"Or a trap," he mutters, opening the door.

I roll my eyes as I follow him out. "Always the optimist."

"Always the realist," he counters, shooting me a look over his shoulder.

The banter is familiar, almost comforting. It's the one constant in the chaos of the last few weeks.

The first stop is the coffee shop Gia used to frequent, the same one I have been coming to every morning. It is a little place just off campus with mismatched furniture and the smell of freshly ground beans. It's quiet when we walk in, the hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs creating a soothing backdrop.

"This was Gia's spot," I say, gesturing to a corner table near the window. "She used to sit there for hours, sketching or writing."

I know he already knows this, but saying it makes me feel like I am contributing my part. As if I am really doing something.

Ryder nods, his eyes scanning the room. He's always alert, always looking for something no one else sees.

We search the shop, checking under tables and behind furniture, but there's nothing. No notes, no strange symbols, nothing out of place.

"Next," Ryder says, his tone clipped.

I sigh but follow him out.

The lake is our next destination. It's a short drive from campus, a quiet spot surrounded by trees and the occasional picnic bench. Gia loved it here. She used to say the water helped her think; helped her breathe.