The Knife

The house was quiet, bathed in the soft hush that only night could bring.

A pale moon hung outside the window, spilling silver across the floor of the master bedroom, tracing soft light over the sheets, over the still figure lying beneath them.

Tessa slept on her side, her hand resting over the gentle curve of her flat stomach. Her breathing was steady, lips slightly parted, strands of her hair falling loose across her face. The air smelled faintly of lavender and rain.

The door ...