Kevin pulled the car over across the street from Betty's house, his eyes scanning the quiet, dimly lit neighborhood.
"You live here?" he asked, leaning slightly forward to get a better look at the row of small houses that lined the narrow lane. The place was unusually silent — hardly any people walking around, only the faint hum of streetlights filling the air.
From what Henry had told him, Betty was an orphan who lost her parents years ago. But Kevin hadn't expected her to live in such a secluded area, cut off from the usual noise of the city.
"Yes, Sir Kevin," Betty replied with her usual cheerful tone. Then, as if realizing how strange that must sound, she smiled nervously. "Would you… like to come in? I can make you coffee."
Her offer was innocent, polite — the kind you make to someone you respect. Yet the way she fiddled with the strap of her bag while waiting for his answer betrayed a touch of shyness.
