The house felt heavier as Rose moved through it, gathering what little she owned. Every creak of the floorboards echoed in her ears, each sound like a warning. Shadows stretched across the walls, lengthened by the broken window’s jagged edges.
Her wrist ached where the intruder had grabbed her. The faint red mark on her skin seemed to burn more brightly than the rest of her body. She pulled her sleeve down to cover it, as if hiding it would erase what had happened.
Daniel stood in the entryway, speaking in clipped tones to his friend while keeping his eyes on the shattered window. His jacket was zipped now, concealing the weapon Rose had only just learned he carried. That single fact unsettled her almost as much as the attack itself.
When had he become someone she didn’t fully recognize
