Stanley’s POV

The front door clicked softly behind me. For a moment, I just stood there, my hand still on the knob. The night air clung to my clothes. It was cold, I smelt like a faint smell of car exhaust, and the bitter scent of burnt coffee beans from the café where I had just been.

I didn’t move right away. The living room was quiet but not peaceful. The lamp in the corner gave off a low orange glow, just enough to make out the small ways the room had been disturbed. A cushion on the ...