Her home was close, too close. A small house with white walls and a neat little porch -- it looked so normal it made his head spin. She unlocked the door with a flick of her wrist and gestured him inside like he was a stray dog.

He hesitated.

-- Now, Alex. -- Her voice was iron under velvet.

He stepped over the threshold. The scent hit him -- floral, sharp, something he couldn't name but would never forget.

The living room was clean but lived-in: throw pillows, a half-finished mug of tea, a hairbrush on the table. But there, draped over the back of a chair, a pair of...