Rose's Point Of View
"Open up, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost casual, as if we were just two old friends meeting for coffee instead of a hunter finally cornering his prey.
I stepped back. My bare heel struck the baseboard with a sharp, hollow thud. I shook my head, eyes wide and stinging as hot tears spilled over my lashes.
No. This had to be a joke… some cruel, twisted hallucination. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. People didn't simply walk across the Atlantic Ocean and materialize on the other side of a cheap, hollow-core apartment door in Houston, Texas.
They just didn't. The laws of physics, of geography, of simple common sense, they all screamed that this was impossible.
Then his voice came again, closer this time, pressed right against the wood. I could hear the faint, damp rustle of his coat as he leaned into the doorframe. The sound made my skin crawl, raising goosebumps along my arms despite the warmth of the apartment.
