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I have a million questions to ask, but my brain is a pretzel. All I come up with is, “What’s your name?” He smiles. It’s a dangerous smile, a secretive one, a wild and hungry one that would look right at home on a wolf. “I’m Killian. I’ll be seeing you again soon. Safe travels, Tru.” With a deep sense of shock, I realize that this time, his voice had no trace of an Irish accent. With a wink, he’s gone. Outside my bedroom window, the car horn blares again. My taxi’s waiting. Like a flip has been thrown, I go from being frozen to moving at a million miles per hour. I don’t bother to change out of my work uniform. I just run into the closet, rip a sweater off a hanger, and pull it on as I dash into the living room, clutching the envelope like my life depends on it. I think it actually
- Writer
