Chapter Nine – The Man with the Scar
Three days passed without another knock on my door.
But I knew better than to mistake quiet for safety.
Alexander had been different since I showed him the photograph. Not drastically—he still carried himself with that same impenetrable confidence—but his eyes lingered on me more often, his questions came sharper, and he kept his phone within reach at all times.
And at night, when he thought I was asleep, I sometimes heard him pacing in the study.
The kind of pacing that sounded like a man holding back a storm.
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It was late afternoon when the peace shattered.
I was in the kitchen, rinsing dishes, when a faint knock echoed from the front door.
Not the confident rap of Alexander’s arrival. Not the quick tap of a neighbor.
This was slower. Del
