Knox
I can't sleep.
I've been lying on the couch in the back office for two hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying the look on Sam's face when I told her my story. The way her eyes went wide. The way her breath caught.
The way she looked at me like I was someone different than who she thought I was.
I don't know if that's good or bad.
Around 1 AM, I give up on sleep and head to the front of the shop. The overhead lights are off, but the security lights outside cast enough glow through the windows that I can see. I grab a water from the mini fridge and lean against the workbench, trying to quiet my mind.
That's when I see headlights pull into the lot.
I freeze, my hand going instinctively to the knife I keep clipped to my belt.
But then I recognize the car. Sam's car.
What the he
