He leads me down the short hall to the room at the end. It definitely belongs to Draken. There are no paintings on the wall. There’s a utility bench and a rack of weights. A metal folding chair with a towel hung over the back. A plain chest of drawers, nothing on top. And a huge bed with a simple wrought iron frame.

The bed is made, covered in a thick Amish quilt. The room smells entirely of him. He didn’t lie. His sweaty musk masks any other lingering scent.

I’m so sleepy, I let him guide me to sit at the foot of the bed. He unzips the hoodie...