The Prey

Krystina was awfully quiet. That bothered an introvert like me. She clutched her handbag tightly and her fingers looked almost pale against the dark leather. I couldn’t help but notice another bruise on her wrist. Similar to the one I saw few days ago.

I tried to make conversation as we walked, pointing out a quaint café and a street musician playing a soft tune on his violin. She smiled politely but remained distant as if her thoughts were somewhere.

When we entered the boutique she had chosen, I was momentarily distracted by the beauty of it. The shop was adorned with soft lighting, luxurious fabrics, and rows...