Kane

Начало книги

He had been right to change the game. Of that he was certain. Still, he was increasingly troubled by the danger inherent in his recent actions, danger he’d precipitated by breaking rules that had long kept him safe. Nevertheless, this new game simply felt… right.

He stood motionless, slowing his breathing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Gradually he began to discern dim shapes across the room: refrigerator, stove, dishes piled by the sink. In an adjacent alcove, a desk sat littered with papers, pencils, pens. Riding invisible currents, smells came to him as well. The aroma of stale pizza. A hint of fabric softener. A waft of perfume.

Her scent.

Outside, a breeze stirred in the night. Swaying with the wind, skeletal limbs of a nearby sycamore scratched at the roof. Upstairs, a sudden creak.

He froze, his senses straining.

Someone getting up, like last time?

Another creak.

He waited, palms slippery inside the latex gloves.

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