The air in the newsroom was perfectly still, dust mites drifting lazily in the shafts of morning light, but Mara couldn't draw a breath into her lungs.
Her trembling fingers were still hovering inches over the glossy, high-resolution photograph lying on the scratched wooden counter. The image of Adrian leaning casually over her table at the coffee shop felt radioactive, burning her eyes. It wasn't just a picture. It was a message. It was a promise. It was a threat.
You don't belong with someone like him. He doesn't see you. I do.
The heavy, frosted glass door of the newsroom creaked open suddenly, shattering the suffocating silence. Mara choked back a sharp gasp, her hands moving with frantic, terrified speed. She shoved the photograph and the plain manila envelope deep into her canvas
