Ray didn’t sit. He didn’t need to. Just his presence filled my living room as if he were another piece of furniture that had always been there, as inevitable as the couch or the window or the stack of photos on my desk. Mia sat rigid on the armchair, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the seat. She kept stealing glances at me, each one loaded with silent panic.
But I couldn’t look at her.
I couldn’t look away from him.
He wasn’t trying to hide anymore. He didn’t need shadows or timing or silence. He stood in the center of my apartment with the confidence of someone who knew no consequences applied to him.
Ray crossed his arms, the motion slow and deliberate, like he wanted us both to feel the weight of his control. He looked from Mia to me, his eyes settling back on me with
