Page 165 of Let Me In

Engine low. Tires soft against the shoulder.

I park two buildings over. Tucked between a rusted-out dump truck and a fence half-swallowed by brambles.

Nothing but dark.

Nothing but silence.

I step out, the cold slicing across my face like a blade. It settles in my chest, sharp and sobering, anchoring the part of me that has no room for doubt.

Close the door without a sound.

I don’t need a gun in hand.

Not yet.

I already know the layout. Corner unit. No neighbors in either direction. The office staff only checks the rooms if someone complains—and this guy didn’t give them a reason to.

He was careful.

But not careful enough.

Because he didn’t know who she belonged to.

The word, belong, strikes something deep in me. Sharp and possessive. It grounds me even as it sharpens my control, sets tension low in my gut like a wire pulled taut.

He didn’t know. But now he will.

I cross the lot on foot.

No crunch of gravel.

No break in rhythm.

My boots move with memory—heel to toe, soft and exact, breath low in my throat.

The night air sharpens around me.

The closer I get, the quieter it becomes.

Like even the dark is holding its breath.

I stop outside the window.

The curtain’s drawn, but the glow inside is faint. Flickering. A cheap desk lamp. Maybe the bathroom light.

I wait.

Count ten slow seconds.

Watch for shadow. Movement. Breathing.

Nothing.

He’s in there.

Alone.

Exactly where I want him.

---