Chapter 10
Ellie walks without thinking, like her body is following a map her mind has abandoned.
The streets blur around her.
She doesn’t register the turns she makes, the quiet of the hour, or the way the shadows stretch too long behind her.
Her arms hang limp at her sides, her thoughts scrambled, looping back to the image of Mrs. Todd’s smile… the glimpse of Madam Odette in the shadows… the empty street where Rook’s car should have been…
By the time she reaches the familiar steps of her building, she realises she hasn’t looked up once.
One moment, she’s outside beneath the flickering streetlamps — the next, she’s in her flat, standing in front of her bed with her backpack still slung over her shoulder.
Her breath slows.
Her limbs grow heavy.
And then — without warning — the world tips.
When Ellie blinks again, she isn’t in her room.
She’s on all fours.
Her paws press against cold pavement.
A tail flicks behind her.
The pavement beneath her paws feels damp, as if it has just rained — but no drops fall from the dark sky above.
The same neighbourhood.
But it feels different this time.
Every window on the crooked street is lit.
Yellow light spills from behind curtains.
The once-dark houses seem to breathe now —
Ellie starts toward the familiar path — the cracked stones that lead to Mrs. Lys’s front porch.
She can almost see Mrs. Lys rocking gently in her chair, a mug of warm milk beside her, waiting for Ellie.
But tonight, something halts her mid-step.
To her left, a house she doesn’t remember ever seeing slowly pulls itself into view.
Small. Narrow. Painted blue with white shutters.
A soft glow spills from the kitchen window.
And there — moving inside — is a figure.
Ellie creeps closer, drawn by the silent invitation.
Through the warped glass, she sees him — Jasper.
His silhouette bobs slightly as he hums, standing at the counter, stirring something in a pot.
The stove casts an orange flicker across his face.
Steam curls lazily into the air.
The house is still.
But the back door hangs slightly ajar, as if inviting Ellie inside.
A breeze brushes against her fur, carrying the scent of something warm — something like herbs, butter, and toasted bread.
She hesitates only a moment.
Then she slips through the door.
Jasper is still at the stove, his back turned, ladling soup into two mismatched bowls.
He’s still humming — off-key and content.
His head tilts slightly as Ellie walks past a sagging chair.
He knows she’s here.
But he doesn’t care.
He just keeps cooking.
She pads softly across the tiled floor, then leaps onto the top of the refrigerator.
The space is warm and slightly dusty. From above, she watches.
Jasper slices bread, dips a spoon into the pot, tastes it, and nods to himself.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Two bowls.
He’s making dinner for someone.
Ellie crouches deeper into the shadows above the fridge — silent, still — and watches.
Ellie isn’t sure how much time has passed when Jasper finally carries two bowls of beef stew from the kitchen into the dining room.
The rich, savoury scent lingers in the air, curling through the kitchen like steam made of memory.
She leaps down from the top of the fridge and lands silently on the tiled floor — as if to join Jasper for dinner.
Only... the beef stew isn’t for her.
She crouches beside the cabinet, hidden in the shadow, and watches.
Jasper moves with purpose, arranging the table with quiet focus.
He places the bowls of stew carefully, adds a plate of toasted bread, a glass of red wine on one side, and a glass of orange juice on the other.
He’s still humming.
That same off-key, lazy tune, like nothing matters — like this is just another ordinary night.
When the table is set, he steps back and glances at the clock on the wall in his living room.
Before Ellie can follow his gaze to see the time, the doorbell rings.
Jasper turns without hesitation, walks straight to the front door, and opens it — not cautiously, but with a strange sort of passion, as if he’s been waiting for this moment.
Through the open door steps a little girl, no more than five or six years old.
She wears a pale blue dress with a lace collar, her shoes tapping gently on the wooden floor as she enters.
One arm clutches a worn fabric doll — its face stitched in permanent surprise, one button eye missing.
The little girl walks in without hesitation.
Jasper kneels slightly to greet her and closes the door behind her with care.
The girl says nothing. She only gazes at the table, then at Jasper, her doll swinging limply in her grip.
Ellie, hidden near the cabinet, doesn’t move — though she is certain the little girl has noticed her presence too.
The girl walks toward the table and takes a seat.
Jasper sits across from her.
“Miya, today’s dinner is beef stew,” he says, pushing the plate of toasted bread toward her, “and here — your favourite bread.”
The girl — Miya — nods and lifts her spoon and fork with an elegance far beyond her years.
Jasper watches her, waiting for the small curl of a smile to form at the corners of her mouth after her first taste.
Only then does he begin to eat.
Strangely, despite the rich aroma of the beef stew filling the room, Ellie feels no hunger.
None of the food tempts her.
She simply watches in silence.
Jasper sips his red wine.
Miya drinks from her glass of orange juice.
And in that still, glowing room, it feels like a ritual — old and rehearsed.
After eating in silence and clearing the last spoonfuls of stew from their bowls, Miya dabs her mouth with a napkin.
“Anything interesting happen recently?” she asks, idly stroking her doll. Her eyes remain fixed on the table, not on Jasper.
Jasper sets down his wine glass and shrugs.
“Nothing much. A Black policewoman moved into town recently.”
Despite Jasper’s attempt to sound nonchalant, Miya’s eyes light up.
“A newcomer to the town — and a policewoman!”
Her voice trembles slightly with excitement, as if the news is more thrilling than the meal she just finished.
“I don’t understand why they let her move in,” Jasper mutters, disgruntled.
“It’s not like this town needs a policewoman. We don’t even have a police station.”
Hidden in the shadows, Ellie taps her paw with quiet interest. Her ears perk up, straining not to miss a word.
From what she can tell, this little girl is gathering information about this town — drawing it out of Jasper like a thread being pulled.
This strange town — the one Ellie has dreamt of before, many times — had always been quiet, empty, unreal.
But now it breathes. Now there are people.
Now it feels… alive.
“No need to be so dismissive,” Miya says calmly, still petting her doll.
“There’s always a reason someone moves here. If a policewoman has arrived, then it means soon, we’ll need her — whether we want to or not.”
Her voice is too poised for her age.
Too certain.
Just as Jasper opens his mouth, likely to protest about the newcomer, a sharp knock cuts through the air — quick, urgent, almost desperate.
Ellie’s eyes snap to the door.
Jasper frowns, groaning in displeasure as he stands and strides over.
He pulls open the door — and there, standing in the frame, is a pale, dishevelled old man in his late sixties.
Blood stains the front of his shirt and smears his trembling hands.
His wide, terrified eyes meet Jasper’s, who instantly mirrors the expression.
“What—?” Jasper steps back instinctively as the man reaches toward him.
“Help me,” the old man rasps, breath unsteady.
“Help Claribel. She’s been stabbed.”
Jasper shakes his head, trying to make sense of it.
“What? Thaddeus, calm down! What happened?”
But Thaddeus doesn’t seem to hear.
He ignores Jasper’s recoil from the blood and grips his forearm tightly, his fingers cold and slick.
“There’s so much blood,” he whispers. “Please — she needs help.”
Before Jasper can respond, Miya appears silently behind him, her doll still tucked under one arm.
She gazes at the scene — the blood, the horror — with a calm, unreadable expression.
“This is what I meant,” she says softly.
“The town needs a policewoman now.”
