Chapter 154 The Don

• The light outside dimmed into the cool hush of evening, casting long shadows across the room. Still, Roxanne painted, her fingers stained with ochre and blue, her bare feet tucked beneath her. Somewhere far below, the world stirred—a dog barked, a kettle whistled in a neighbour’s kitchen—but none of it reached her. She was too far inside her own silence.
• Then, quietly, the door creaked.
• She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. She knew the rhythm of those heavy footsteps, the familiar weight behind them.