Sins of Aiden

25

CHAPTER 25

Aiden hasn't made a single sound in thirty minutes.

Not a simple word since he let go of the edge of my desk.

He's not made a breath that I can hear from the corner of my room.

Not even the restless curses he usually mutters when he's thinking too hard.

Absolutely nothing.

He's been pacing my room like a caged animal ever since we realized the USB was gone—with long, measured strides from the door to the window and back again. Over the overthrown piles of stuff he threw on my bedroom floor. His shoulders rigid, jaw locked so tightly I swear I can hear his teeth grind. Every step is restrained, like he's forcing himself not to explode right in the middle of my room.

But then ten minutes ago—he stopped.

He crossed the room without looking at me and sat down hard on the edge of my bed. Elbows braced on his knees with his head bowed—hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles have gone white again, the scrapes splitting open fresh.

Now he hasn't moved at all.

Not a single inch.

I stand frozen a few feet away, beside my mirror and also haven't moved a muscle—in fear of ticking him off. My eyes keep flicking between the thundering Aiden and my bedroom window. My brows have permenantly make a crease between them from the memory of that window being open when I got home and the way the thin curtain lifted slightly with every passing breath of wind when I stepped inside.

Now the shut window feels like it's mocking me.

Because someone has been in my room.

Someone came in here and knew where to look.

Someone took it.

The envelope, with the USB I never got to see what was on it.

My stomach twists painfully—dread seeping inside my intestines.

I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. I don't understand why a silly little envelope—why a USB I never even opened—has turned Aiden into this coiled, silent thing that looks like it's one wrong thought away from shattering.

My fingers are chewed raw from my nails. I don't even remember when I started biting them again.

The ticking clock on my wall feels deafening.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

My nail finds my teeth again.

Every second stretches.

And the edge of my teeth scrapes my short nail until I realize what I'm doing and yank my finger away before they find my golden hoop instead.

I want to say something but I don't know what. I just know I need to say something. But the weight of Aiden's silence crams against my heart until it's hard to breathe—hard to think.

Finally, I whisper meekly against the quiet room, "Aiden. . ."

He doesn't look up.

Doesn't react at all.

I swallow and try again, unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth—my voice low and shaking despite my effort to steady it. "What's so special about this USB?"

That gets him to react.

Not immediately—but I see his shoulders tense, the muscles in his back locking like steel cables pulled too taut. His hands unclasp slowly, fingers flexing as if they hurt.