“Told you. I don’t like being pushed.”
“Yeah? Who does?”
That shuts him up. His jaw tightens and he takes a breath through his nose, like he’s trying to hold something in: anger or annoyance, maybe both. I should go check in with Sabine before she leaves for her shift, but I can’t just leave this guy unsupervised in the house.
“Wait outside for my sister,” I say finally. My voice is firm, and I’m already turning slightly, motioning toward the door.
He stares at me like he can’t believe I’m serious, but then his expression shifts, like it occurs to him it’s not a good idea to argue. He heads toward the door.
“What, you gotta go babysit Sabine now? In her own house?” he mutters as he passes.
I fall into step behind him, keeping close just in case he decides to get clever.
“Something like that,” I say.
He doesn’t reply. I open the front door, and he steps out onto the porch. The air outside feels colder than it did earlier, sharper against my skin. The light’s brighter too, almost too bright, and the scent of Mom’s garden: damp soil, fresh rosemary, blooming jasmine, rushes in. I take half a breath, then close the door behind him and slide the lock into place.
Then I head upstairs.
Mom’s door is still shut. No sound from her room. Good, she’s still asleep.
Sabine’s door, though, is cracked open, and a narrow strip of light spills into the hallway. I knock twice on the frame.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?” she calls from inside. Her voice is muffled. She's probably brushing her teeth.
I step closer but don’t go in. “You sure about this guy?”
She appears in the doorway a few seconds later, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, one raised to wipe her mouth with the edge. Her hair’s damp, face all flushed from the hurry.
“Eli? Yeah. He’s a friend.”
“He was parked out front for some time,” I say. “No license plates. I thought he might be the guy.”
At that, she flinches. Just a flicker, but I see it. Her hand moves to tuck her hair behind her ear, buying herself a second.
“It’s not him,” she says, quieter now. “Eli’s... awkward. But not creepy. And besides…”
Her eyes drift past me, down the hallway, like she’s listening for movement from Mom’s room. There’s none.
“He’s been around for a while. Offers me rides. Buys me coffee sometimes before work. He’s kind. Weird, but not the kind of weird that sets off alarms.”
“Kind isn’t the same thing as safe.”
That gets me a look—not angry, just tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind that says she’s had this conversation before, in her own head if not out loud.
“He’s not the guy,” she says again. She pulls her hoodie tighter and shifts her weight like she’s ready to bolt. “I don’t have time for a full interrogation. I’m late.”
I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “What do you actually know about him, Sabine?”
She sighs, frustrated. “He works at that hardware store off Glendale. I stopped in a few times when my laptop started glitching. We talked. It felt normal. He felt normal. Lonely, yeah, but not dangerous. I liked him. Still do.”
“Feltnormal?”
“Stillfeelsnormal.” She meets my gaze, eyes sharper now. “Until you started asking all these questions.”
“That’s the point,” I say. “Youshouldbe asking them. Especially now.”
