The knock came at midnight.
Three knocks, measured, not urgent. The kind of knock from someone who had decided to be here and was not going to apologize for it but was also not going to make it aggressive. I was awake, because I was almost always awake at midnight, the city’s quieter hours being the ones I used for the work that required the least interruption. I was at my desk with a case file and a cold cup of tea when the sound came through.
I knew before I reached the door.
I don’t know how I knew. Instinct, maybe, or the particular texture of the silence that preceded the knock, or seven years of building internal architecture specifically designed to anticipate this moment. I opened the door.
Damian.
I looked at his face and I saw it immediately, because I had always been able t
