The pounding on the door rattles through the apartment again. George’s shoulders are tense, his body angled like he’s ready for whatever is on the other side. My fingers are still tight around the envelope, and the paper crinkles under my grip.
“You should hide that,” he says again, softer now but with a weight that makes me listen.
I tuck the envelope under my pillow, the fabric swallowing it up.
The knock comes a fourth time, sharper and impatient.
George moves toward the door without hesitation, but I catch his arm. “What if it is just Jessie?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Jessie doesn’t knock like she’s about to break the door down.”
I release him reluctantly, my heart thudding in my chest.
When he opens the door, the hallway light cuts in. A man stands there, tall, broad, an
