The name lands heavy.
The noises upstairs have stopped now. That’s somehow worse. The silence feels like a predator crouching.
I listen for footsteps in the hallway. For a door opening. For anything.
Mrs. Daisy grips my hand under the couch cushion like she’s anchoring me to the earth.
I don’t know how much time passes. Enough for my heart to start keeping time wrong. It feels like a lifetime.
Then, faintly, through her front door, I hear boots on the hallway stairs.
Heavy. Slow. Controlled.
My pulse spikes.
I hold my breath.
The footsteps stop outside her door.
A knock follows.
Three sharp taps.
Mrs. Daisy looks at me, eyes wide, and I can tell she’s about to ignore every instruction and call the police anyway.
My phone buzzes softly.
Gray’s voice is quiet now, controlled. “He’s there.”
My mouth goes dry. “How do you know?”
“Because he just checked in,” Gray says. “Open the door. Now.”
Mrs. Daisy stands first, moving like she’s ready to swing a cast iron pan if she has to. She cracks the door open a fraction, chain still on.
And then I see him through the gap.
He fills the space like he owns the air in it.
Tall. Rugged. Sun-browned skin. Dark hair cut short like he doesn’t have patience for anything that gets in his eyes. One arm covered in tattoos that disappear beneath the sleeve of his shirt. The other bare, forearm corded with muscle.
And his eyes.
Piercing blue.
The kind of blue that doesn’t belong on earth, not on a man who looks like he’s been through hell and came out meaner for it.
His gaze lands on me, pinned behind Mrs. Daisy’s shoulder.
For one second, the world narrows to that look.
Like he sees everything.
Like he sees right through my grief, my fear, my shaking hands, the curve of my body I’ve spent too many years apologizing for.
His jaw tightens. A muscle ticks.
Then his voice drops low, rough as gravel.
