Page 52 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

Lirian’s story(A little taster)

A Quiet Watching

The car park was deserted. Sodium lamps hummed overhead, washing the cracked asphalt in a dull orange glow. She shut the car door with more force than she meant to, the sound ringing too loudly in the empty night.

Her body ached. Every step toward the stairwell felt like dragging stone. The second-floor flat seemed impossibly far. Still, she pressed on, scrubs wrinkled and stained with the day’s work.

Halfway across the lot, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. She faltered. A shadow…or was it? The hairs on her arms rose. Slowly she turned.

Nothing. Just her imagination conjuring up a boogieman.

The car park stretched out in silence, still and hollow.

She swallowed, throat dry, and quickened her pace. The crunch of her trainers on gravel seemed too loud, too alone. The flutter of panic built in her chest, and by the time she reached the glass entry doors, she was nearly running.

Keys clutched like a weapon, she punched the code into the keypad. Wrong.She tried again. Wrong again-her breath hitching with every second wasted, her fingers shaking now.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered, heart thundering.

Finally the lock buzzed. She shoved the door open and slipped inside, back pressed against the glass, chest heaving. She peered out one last time. There was only stillness. Only silence.

Her laugh came brittle. Just her imagination. Just exhaustion playing tricks.

The stairs creaked as she climbed. Her shoulders slumped; her eyelids drooped.

At her door, she fumbled with the lock until the bolt clicked, blessed and solid.

She leaned there for a moment, forehead to the wood, before feeling along the wall for the switch.

Light spilled across her skin, golden against the pale wheat tone.

Her dark hair was caught up in a messy, lopsided bun, strands escaping to frame her face.

With a sigh, she tugged free the pins, letting the heavy fall of hair cascade over her shoulders. The lock slid into place behind her. Safe.

She moved to the fridge, pulling out a container, barely tasting what she was doing as she shoved it into the microwave. The hum filled the flat until—

A creak.

She froze.

“Hello?”

Her voice trembled into the silence. Nothing answered.

Shaking her head, she told herself she was imagining things.

Just a tired body, a tired mind. When the microwave beeped, she poured the soup into a bowl and carried it with her, stripping away layers of the day as she went.

Scrub top abandoned. Then her trousers. Padding barefoot in nothing but bra and panties, she sipped spoonfuls absently.

By the time she reached her room, the bra had joined the trail of clothing.

The bathroom steamed with the hiss of water. She let the shower run hot, stepping in and letting it scorch the day away. Her face crumpled. She pressed her palms to the tiles, shoulders shaking. One of those days. A child lost. And the weight of it clung to her skin more stubbornly than any grime.

Her sobs were quiet, broken by the water beating down.

When she emerged, towel wrapped around dripping hair, her body sagged under the heaviness of grief. Naked, she collapsed into bed, limbs sprawling. She set her alarm for seven with the fumbling motions of someone already half-asleep, then killed the light.

Darkness folded in around her.

From the curtains, a shadow seperated itself.

The figure moved with the grace of silence, each step sure and nimble. He paused at her bedside, eyes fixed on the pale length of her exposed back. Slowly, reverently, a hand traced along her skin. She stirred but did not wake.

He pulled the quilt higher, tucking it around her shoulders like a lover might. Then he leaned in, close enough to breathe in the scent of her damp hair.

He straightened, his gaze sharp, his expression unreadable. Her clothes lay scattered; he gathered them with precise movements. Everything went into the basket—everything except the panties, which he pocketed without hesitation.

At the door, he paused, checking the locks. The flat was secure. She would never know he’d been here.

Once outside, he opened his laptop, fingers flying as he scrubbed the CCTV feed clean. When he was satisfied, he switched streams. Every room of her flat flickered across his screen in grainy black and white. She shifted in sleep, unaware of the eyes that watched.

The laptop buzzed. An incoming call.

Zel’s voice cut through, low and sharp.“Where the fuck are you?”

Lirian’s lips curled in the ghost of a smile as he closed the feed, the night still warm with the scent of her hair.