Reza
I don’t hide the note.
Not because I’m careless, but because it never occurs to me that anyone would come looking.
The house is quiet in the way new spaces always are. Not peaceful. Just unfamiliar. The kind of quiet that hasn’t learned your rhythms yet, where every sound feels borrowed. Even the hum of the refrigerator feels too loud, like it doesn’t belong to me.
Water runs in the sink as I rinse a mug I barely used, my thoughts moving in slow, sticky circles I can’t quite break out of.
Starla lies low but alert beneath my skin, stretched tight.
- This is not over, she murmurs.
I nod. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been swallowing words instead of air.
The knock comes sharp and firm. Three raps, evenly spaced.
Not hesitant.
Not aggressive.
Confident.
Starla li
