It is 5 p.m. when Ellie finds herself back in the storeroom of the café.

  Today has been strange.

  She needs to leave — clear her head.

  Ever since overhearing the schoolgirls’ conversation, Ellie has not been able to stop thinking about Mr. Todd and Madam Odette.

  She cannot even recall why Sam was yelling at her earlier.

  She grabs her water bottle from the usual corner. The cap is still tight — Ellie checks it before slipping it into her backpack.

  Sam steps into the storeroom just as she ends a phone call.

  “Alright. See you later at happy hour,” she says cheerfully, but her face drops when she sees Ellie.

  “Bye, Sam,” Ellie mutters under her breath, not wanting to stay in the café a second longer.

  “Ellie,” Sam sighs, her voice softer than usual. “You should really take Tilda’s advice. Go see a doctor. Take the medication.”

  Her expression shifts — less sarcastic, more sincere.

  Ellie has no idea what she is talking about.

  Tilda has always been kind to her — at least in the eyes of everyone else.

  But she has never told Ellie to see a doctor.

  And for what?

  Ellie gives her a confused look.

  Sam shakes her head and waves it off.

  Ellie hoists her backpack over her shoulder.

  “I guess it’s a waste of breath talking to her…” James’ voice drifts in as Ellie walks away from the storeroom.

  “Yeah, I should never have—”

  She does not hear the rest.

  Ellie steps out of the café and into the open air, the door shutting behind her with a soft click.

  The same sky greets her — a heavy blend of pale orange and grey.

  She walks slowly.

  Everything feels the same.

  The same sky.

  The same street.

  And, as always, Ellie knows she will not run into any of the regulars from the café out here.

  She has been wondering about that for some time — how those customers seem to exist only inside the café. Never beyond it.

  Not once has she seen them on the street. Not one of them.

  She walks past the supermarket beside the fish mart without looking.

  Instead, she turns down a narrow alley.

  She had already made the decision not to go home — sometime back in the café, long before she stepped outside.

  She turns onto Ashmere Lane, a narrow street where the buildings are low and tired. Rust stains creep down the walls. Laundry hangs from crooked windows, swaying faintly in the still air. The smell of oily cooking and damp concrete lingers in the breeze.

  A few stray cats dart across the pavement.

  She keeps walking.

  Ashmere Lane fades into Glenrow Drive, where the streets grow wider and the houses taller — newer, neater. The walls are freshly painted. The hedges are trimmed with care.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  By the time she reaches Marlin Court, the road is smooth and empty.

  No cracks. No cats.

  At the end of the street stands the condo.

  Carrion Heights — the name etched in sleek steel above the entrance.

  From a distance, she knows this place.

  Even if she does not remember why.

  But something is different from the memory buried in the back of her mind.

  There are police cars outside — three of them — their lights flashing silently, red, and blue reflecting off the glass facade.

  As she walks closer, she spots the security guard.

  He is talking to three police officers.

  His worn-out face says everything: Why me? Why today?

  A few nosy onlookers crane their necks from the guardhouse windows, curious to see why the police have shown up in this otherwise quiet neighbourhood.

  Ellie’s heart thumps against her chest wall like a wild deer trying to escape.

  The conversations of the onlookers grow clearer as she inches closer to the condo.

  “Poor Mr. Todd. I heard he was found dead in his unit,” says a plump woman who looks like she has nothing better to do than stick her nose where it does not belong.

  “Poisoned, wasn’t it?” someone murmurs.

  “No, no — drowned. In his own bathtub.”

  “What a good man he was… How is his wife holding up?”

  The voices swirl around her, ghostly whispers forcing their way into her ears whether she wants them or not.

  Mr. Todd is dead?

  Ellie squeezes her way through the small crowd, ignoring the annoyed glances from the onlookers.

  The guard, still in his uniform, is speaking animatedly to the police officers.

  “I’ve said this a million times to your colleagues,” the guard snaps, his face flushed with frustration. “I didn’t register any visitors to Mr. Todd’s unit today!”

  “We’d appreciate a little more cooperation from you,” says a senior-looking officer, arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at the guard with thinly veiled irritation. “If not, a visit to the station will be inevitable.”

  The guard scratches the back of his head, visibly agitated.

  “Well, the management won’t be happy if this turns into a mess because of me.”

  “Any suspicious individuals you’ve noticed recently?” another officer — a woman this time — asks in a calmer, more polite tone.

  The guard mutters something under his breath.

  “What was that?” the first officer snaps, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing.

  “I said no!” the guard replies louder now. “And I’ve said it — again — a million times!”

  As Ellie’s partial attention is caught by the police officers’ interrogation, a familiar figure flashes through the periphery of her vision.

  Though she does not see the person’s face, the back is unmistakable — someone slipping away from the crowd.

  It is her.

  Madam Odette.

  Ellie’s heart races.

  The image of Madam Odette meeting the deceased rushes back. The gossip from the schoolgirls.

  What is Madam Odette doing near Mr. Todd’s condo?

  And why is she leaving while everyone else is still craning their necks to watch?

  Ellie’s eyes fixate on the back of the woman’s head — the person she assumes is Madam Odette.

  The police officers continue grilling the guard, who seems clueless and tired. They do not seem to be asking the right questions — and somehow, Ellie realises she’s already assumed this was a murder, despite not knowing the full story.

  Her gaze darts between the agitated officers and the retreating figure.

  She hesitates.

  Should she say something?

  Tell the police?

  But what would she even say? That she suspects Madam Odette based on café gossip?

  Just as her foot lifts, unknowingly moving toward Madam Odette, a firm hand lands on her shoulder.

  Ellie flinches and spins around.

  A man stands before her — lean, clean-shaven, with a face carved from sharp lines and long silence. His piercing blue eyes shine against the backdrop of a dark suit. A long coat drapes from his shoulders like it belongs there.

  There is no badge. He does not need one.

  Everything about him — the shoes, the coat, the nonchalant smile — says detective.

  “Are you Ellie?” he asks, his hand now casually resting in his pocket.

  “Who are you?” she replies, wary.

  “I’m Julian Rook,” he says, his voice low and steady. “The detective in charge of Mr. Todd’s case.”

  So, it was a murder.

  “You’re with those police officers?” Ellie asks, jerking her thumb toward the guardhouse.

  Detective Rook shakes his head and lets out a dry chuckle.

  “No. I’m not with those dumbasses who don’t know who to talk to if they actually want the truth.”

  Then, the same hand — the one that had gripped her shoulder and disappeared into his coat — reappears, and he points directly at her.

  “And I know you know something.”

  Ellie’s heart hammers in her chest.

  This detective is different. Not like the others. Not like the uniformed ones yelling at the guard.

  Maybe…

  Maybe she can tell him about Madam Odette.