When Leo came back home, the house was dark and quiet. The clock on the wall showed past midnight. His body ached, his arms burned where the wounds had been stitched, his shoulders were stiff, and exhaustion clung to his bones like a second skin.
He had multiple injuries on his arms, with fresh bandages wrapped around his forearms hidden beneath his dark shirt. His knuckles were bruised, raw, and split in places. His face was grim, his jaw tight, and his gray eyes cold and distant.
The hunt for the stalker had been brutal. They had found leads, but not the man himself. The trail had gone cold in the remote area where Bella's footage had ended. Dead ends. Empty warehouses. False alarms.
He had come home hoping to see her face, to hear her voice, to feel her warmth, but she was nowhere to be seen.
He checked the living room. Empty.
The dining room. Dark.
The kitchen. Silent.
He climbed the stairs, his footsteps heavy and his heart heavier.
