Cherilyn Knight's Point Of View.
At first glance, the old man appeared to be an unassuming figure, dressed in an outdated suit with frayed edges. His thinning white hair was combed back in an attempt to retain some dignity, and his wrinkled face bore the weight of age and time, but as soon as I sat down, I felt his eyes on me, and something about the way he stared made my skin crawl. His gaze was not one of idle curiosity or harmless observation. It was dark, malicious — predatory, even.
He did not speak right away, but the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to ignore it at first, fidgeting in my seat and glancing around the room, looking for any distraction, but I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, practically boring holes into my skin. His lips curled
