It was the next morning. The soft glow of daylight spilled through the bedroom window, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The apartment was quiet, filled only with the gentle rustling of clothes and the distant humming from the kitchen kettle.
Abigail stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair, trying her best to look composed for the day. Her workbag was already packed by the door. Her blazer hung neatly on the arm of the chair. But despite all the orderliness around her, her thoughts were scattered—tangled with the storm from the night before.
Behind her, on the edge of the bed, Jerry sat in silence.
He hadn't spoken much since waking up. He hadn't touched his phone. He hadn't even turned on the news, which was unlike him. He just sat there, eyes unfocused, shoulders tight, his thoughts buried deep beneath the calm expression on his face.
But inside?
He wasn't calm at all.
If he could get to Abigail that quickly… what else is he planning?
