Philip strolled up the stairs to his apartment, his mind heavy. Every step felt heavier than the last. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the weight of what had just happened.
That moment kept replaying in his head, George... the glass... the blood.
The sharp sting of the glass against his forehead was still fresh. His father's voice, no, his foster father's voice, still echoed in his ears like thunder in a silent valley:
"Now the whole plan has collapsed because of you."
Philip let out a long breath as he reached his door. But something made him stop. His hand froze just inches from the handle.
Something wasn't right.
He hadn't unlocked it.
Yet the door wasn't locked.
His heart skipped a beat. The lock had clearly been tampered with, or maybe someone had opened it after he left. Either way, someone had been here… or was still inside.
