After placing the seashell in the desk drawer next to the feather, I grab my phone and send the gang a quick text to let them know I’m back safe. A phone beeps from the vicinity of my always-messy bed. Scowling, I cross the room and yank the comforter away. There’s Troy, sprawled across my sheets, sleeping like a little baby. “Hey,” he says, rolling over and squinting into the light. “You’re back.” I don’t bother confirming the obvious. “How did you get in here?” I swear I reset my protections after last time. He sits up, rubs his eyes with one hand, and waves at the window with the other. “I’m on the third floor,” I argue while he stifles a yawn. “I know.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “I neofactured a ladder.” I give up. With a resigned shake of my head, I drop into the chair at my desk. “Clearly I need to up my security.” Troy ignores my grumble. “Did you get it?” I yank the drawer back open and hold up the seashell. “How?” he asks. “Was it hard?”
