I couldn’t breathe.
The elevator ride to go upstairs felt like it was squeezing my lungs shut. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since I left him. Every time I blinked, I saw it again, not the act, not the aftermath, but the glint in his eyes when he leaned close and told me to “remember what I saw and if there was anything I wanted to let him know.” The problem was, I didn’t even know if I had seen it, or if my mind was making it worse.
My bag felt heavier than usual. I didn’t remember him handing me anything, but when I fumbled it open when I got out of the elevator, something black and cold grazed my fingertips. Gloves. His gloves. The leather was still warm from his hands.
And they smelled like metal.
I dropped them back into the bag as if they had burned me, shut my door, locked it,
