The unwritten scars
1: Evie'
rth, so unlike the gasoline and concrete stench of Chicago. Evie Monroe stepped out of her cayed in the wind. It had peeling white paint, a sagging porch, and windows that looked
sted. Can you r
was behind her. The bruises had faded, but the memories hadn't. She adju
sirens wailing at all hours. Now, there was nothing but the whisper of the wind and the occasional chirp of a bird.
stepped inside, inhaling dust and wood. The space was a small one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, a living area with just enoug
pressing a hand to her chest to ca
res crunching over g
iveway, sending a fresh wave of panic through her body.
needed to move, to run, but her fee
door opened, and
h of stubble. Hands covered in sawdust. He wiped them o
e Mo
ep, steady. Noth
ed, thro
e said. "I built
alizing she'd been holding her b
e way she kept her weight shifted toward the door as if she might bolt. He
bring the
e inside. But she had ordered the furniture weeks ago before she decided to run
elf to nod. "Ye
r again, his eyes dark and unreadable, but
and headed ba
she'd been holding. She pressed a trembling
. Just a
the porch steps, something about him unsettled her
es again, she saw it and he
fied her more