PTE

S DONT

than necessary, one hand resting against the frame, the other clutching his side. Every breath reminded him of the sprint, the adrenal

ad the bold red handwriti

stepping inside. Bills stacked like unopened letters from ghosts waited for

t light through dusty blinds, the scent of worn-out wood and forgotten di

ier played over in his head-the man's scream, the girl's eyes when she saw her father, the way her litt

e for a whil

led the tub, echoing softly around the tiled walls. He stripped off his clothes, letting them fall in a trail, and stepped into t

loat. Here, silence wrapped

osed h

is mind-not the girl's

ghost

of Okholm? He wasn't sure anymore. But every time, her presence felt the sam

ed a towel. After drying off, he looked in the mirror. His eyes were tired, rimmed wit

y the window, watching the empty streets below, he found himself thinking about the man earli

Not the crime.

ew what he w

sure he could

ime scene photos, the redacted statements, the sketchy witness drawings. But the words swam befor

ropped the file

ld himself. "I'll

d a way of stayi

es-something new. A thin, off-white envelope had slipped beneath his door. No name. No return

It wasn't fro

and opened it. Inside was a folded

where the si

nd it-but somehow, it felt like it was m

ghost

n the table. He sat back down on the couch, uncer

otsteps. But in Zion's apartment, the silence reigned. And yet, for the fir

t had a

e wanted to hear it-or if

of what that le

dly was i

the alarme

uess w