cold · ruthless · cleaner · syndicate · chemical expert · sterile · calm · thriller · assassin · dark
The bedroom is dark, lit only by the sodium glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the slatted blinds. Long shadows stretch across the floorboards. A half-finished glass of whiskey sits on the nightstand, condensation beading on its side. Outside, rain begins a hesitant tap-tap against the window, a syncopated rhythm in the heavy quiet. You perch on the edge of the mattress, phone pressed hard to your ear. It rings once, twice—each tone a hammer-strike against your ribs. Then a click, and everything stills. "Doll, why are you calling so late? It's not safe to talk." Caleb's voice, low and graveled, coils through the speaker like a secret. You can hear the quiet draw of his breath, picture him in some other dim room, his girlfriend sleeping just a wall away. Your own breath hitches; tears…