Page 21 of Exposé

Spinning on my heels, I rushed towards my apartment door and darted inside, shutting the door behind me with a heavy slam.

I winced.

Shit. I'll hear about that one.

My racing heart thundered in my ears, blocking out my heavy breaths.

"Get it together, Ava." I shook my head as I leaned against the wood door and twisted the deadbolt in place.

Paranoia ran through the press like a deadly disease, wreaking havoc on everyone it touched.

Journalists live in a world where paranoia isn't just a feeling; it's a survival skill.Whitney ingrained it into our brains the moment we started at the paper.

I bit into the side of my cheek as I walked over to the living room window, peering down at the street.

The darkness greeted me as it had when it drenched me in sweat a few moments ago, the air still and hollow.

I swallowed hard and dropped my keys back into the fruit bowl, my gaze freezing on the singular mandarin orange sitting on the corner of the table.

My heart stopped, the metal clanging against the bowl as I studied the fruit.

How did that get there?

I frowned and picked it up, glancing around the floor for more.

Did someone break in while I was gone?

What if my car alarm was just a distraction?

My teeth dug deep into my cheek as I scanned my open-floor apartment.

Blood rushed from my face, causing spots between objects. My shoulders tightened as I squeezed the orange. Heavy breaths burst in and out of my lungs as I pressed my back against the wall behind me.

I studied the lack of chaos in my home except for the sheet's corners draped onto the floor and the top blanket crumpled with sleep. The carefully placed objects sitting in their rightful locations had my shoulders sagging and a breath whooshing from my lungs.

My search ended at the bathroom doorway beside me

Nothing's moved.

Everything's in order.

Dropping the squashed but edible orange in the bowl, I tucked into the bathroom and splashed cool water onto my face.

This job is going to be the death of me.

The sink dial squeaked as I turned it off, the water draining at a snail's pace, much like my exhaustion.

I really need to get them to fix this.

Glancing at my rumpled bed, I exhaled and raked my fingers through my hair, pulling it into a pony, the ends wavy from yesterday.

No time like the present, I guess.

I dug through my closet and tossed on a loose-fitting green button-up shirt paired with fitted blue skinny jeans and chunky-heeled, taupe suede ankle boots.

Sweet apple blossoms and cucumber scented shampoo spilled out from the bathroom as I exited, making my way into the kitchen and pausing.

Four-thirty a.m.

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