POV: Lewis | Location: Edinburgh
"Which street," she'd asked last night.
He'd told her. She hadn't replied after that.
Lewis stood in the Marchmont flat at eight forty-three on Saturday morning, coffee from the corner shop going cold in his hand, and looked at the space that was, as of Thursday, legally his.
Third floor. High ceilings. Two bedrooms and a box room that could become a third. The Edinburgh light came through the front windows in a way that made the bare walls look almost finished.
Six minutes from Yessica's door. He'd walked it twice.
His phone was in his pocket. She still hadn't replied.
He'd told her last night — no contingencies, she'd said, so he'd told her — and then silence. Which meant she was processing it the way she processed everything: completely, methodica
