She appeared at the top of the stairs and rushed past me without stopping.
Gray hair loose. Robe slipping slightly at her shoulders.
Her eyes were wide. Panicked.
Not her usual composed self. Not even close.
She didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge me. She simply pushed past, her movements swift and purposeful.
Down the stairs in a blur, she reached the front door, unlocked it, and slipped out into the night.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence rushed back in, heavy and empty, as if the world itself had exhaled and held its breath.
My heart was pounding hard.
Something was wrong.
Chiara didn’t run unless something was wrong.
My mind jumped immediately to the worst.
A breach. An attack.
The Spanish side?
A rival?
Someone inside the house?
Something worse?
I swallowed hard.
Forced my breathing to steady.
Then continued upward.
Step by step.
One at a time.
When I reached his door again, I knocked once and entered.
He was no longer in the chair.
My eyes shifted immediately.
Scanning.
He stood now. Leaning against the far wall.
Arms crossed. Completely composed.
As if he had never moved at all.
The room seemed smaller with him standing like that. Or maybe I just felt smaller in comparison.
