AISLYN“Please,” she says, voice low and urgent. “Don’t raise an alarm.”

The words come before I can speak, before I can even steady my breathing. The knife is still raised in my hand, the point angled toward her throat, close enough that I can see the faint rise and fall of her pulse. She has not moved. Not to attack. Not to flee.

“Put it down,” she adds quickly, eyes fixed on the blade. “I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

I don’t lower it.

“You followed me,” I say. “You ...