The cold rain blew inside immediately, hitting my face and chest.

Detective Harris stepped across the threshold without waiting for an invite.

He shook the water from his dark trench coat, sending droplets flying onto my clean slate floor.

“Evening, Clara,” he said.

His boots left wet, muddy tracks as he moved into the room.

“You shouldn’t be here, Detective,” I said.

I kept my hand on the edge of the door, hoping he would stay on the mat.

He looked past me, his eyes sweeping the high-tech kitchen.

He stared at the blue light of the security monitor, then at the stainless-steel cooktop.

“I saw your lights on,” Harris said.

He pulled off his leather gloves, one wet finger at a time.

“Just doing a wellness check,” he added. “Your neighbors said they haven’t seen you since Sunday.”

“I’ve been busy,” I said.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The intercom speaker clicked.

Julian’s breathing was audible now, a slow, rhythmic hiss through the metal grill.

Harris tilted his head toward the sound, his eyes narrowing.

“Is that him?” Harris asked.