“It wasn’t what you think,” he whispered, voice low, as if fearing the walls might hear.
I stared at him, the steam from the skillet curling around his jaw, and waited for the truth that had been hidden for three years.
The Reveal and the Gunman
Adrian swallowed, eyes darting to the kitchen window as if searching for an invisible audience.
“I work for an organization,” he said finally, each syllable a reluctant confession. “Not a company, not a hospital. We… we rescue women.” He swallowed again, the weight of his words hanging like a heavy curtain.
“Rescue? From what?” I asked, voice shaking, trying to keep the tremor from giving away my fear.
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