Sofia
The ride to Theo’s apartment was silent, the kind of silence that buzzed in my ears and made my pulse too loud. I sat in the passenger seat, my scraped hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage Theo had fashioned from a clean handkerchief. My mind replayed the attack in jagged flashes—the glint of a knife, the sour stench of their breath, Theo’s voice cutting through the chaos.
When we arrived, he didn’t say a word, just held the door open for me and ushered me inside. The apartment was spacious but warm, the kind of place that whispered wealth without flaunting it—leather couches, dark wood shelves lined with books, the faint scent of cedar lingering in the air.
“Sit,” he said, his voice low but firm.
I perched on the edge of the couch as he disappeared into another room. My pulse ref
