The silence returned, heavy and thick.

I looked at the closed office door.

Underneath the crack of the door, the shadow of a pair of feet appeared.

Someone was standing right outside.

I quickly shut the journal and shoved it back into the shoebox.

I put the lid on and slid the box back into the deep drawer.

My fingers scrambled to lock the drawer, but my hand shook, and the key slipped from my grip.

It fell to the hardwood floor with a sharp, metallic ring.

In the absolute silence of the house, the sound was deafening.

I held my breath, my eyes locked on the door handle.

The brass handle began to turn, slowly and deliberately, in the dark.

The brass handle completed its turn.

The door swung inward with a faint, scraping groan.

Nathan stood in the doorway.

He wore his blue surgical scrubs, the fabric slightly creaked at the elbows.

His face was cast in deep shadow from the hallway light behind him.

He looked down at the floor.

The brass key lay right between my feet, gleaming under the pale moonlight.