Xavier came awake to a knock that didn't belong to the hotel.
It wasn't a loud knock someone would do if they were enemies. Just firm enough to cut through sleep and make his brain catch up before his body did.
He turned his head, eyes half-open, checking the other side of the bed out of habit.
It was empty.
For a second, his pulse ticked up, then he heard it—water running in the bathroom. A steady wash against the tub. Arlen was already up.
Xavier exhaled through his nose, rubbed his face once, and sat up. His skin was cold where the sheet had slipped down. He stayed still for a beat, listening for anything else through the door, through the walls, through the hallway.
He got up without rushing, grabbed his pants from the chair like he'd done it a thousand times, and pulled them on. No shirt. No weapons in hand. He didn't need theatrics in a place like this.
He crossed the room and opened the door a crack.
