Page 175 of The Rules
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Kath sat in the far corner of the café, untouched coffee cooling by her elbow. The buzz of conversation around her was distant, muffled—like she was underwater. Her gaze stayed locked on the window, eyes flicking to every black car that passed.
It had been nearly half an hour.
Each minute stretched tighter across her nerves. Her foot tapped against the floor, fingers drumming restlessly on the ceramic mug. She tried not to imagine what was waiting in her apartment.
And then—finally—she saw it.
Ben’s car pulled into view, sleek and steady, slipping into a spot just across the street. Kath was already moving.
She grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and pushed through the café doors before he even had time to turn off the engine. The cold hit her instantly, but she didn’t slow.
Didn’t hesitate.
She just needed to reach him.
He didn’t move frantically, but there was nothing slow about him either—just the kind of pace that spoke of certainty.
Every motion deliberate. Controlled.
He searched her skin—not just with his hands, but with his eyes. Checking for damage. For bruises. For blood.
Kath felt something settle in her chest at his touch. The fear didn't disappear, but it retreated just enough for her to breathe again.
"I didn't go in," she said, quiet but steady.
He gave a short nod.
"Good. Let's go."
They moved as one. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Every step was louder than it should be.
Kath's pulse hammered in her throat as they approached her door. Ben positioned himself slightly in front of her—not obvious, but deliberate. Protective.
Ben drew a breath. Opened the door.
The door creaked wider, and Kath's stomach dropped as she took in the destruction.
Papers—scattered. Torn. Couch cushions—slashed open, their insides spilling like entrails. Bookshelves knocked over. Drawers yanked halfway out, gaping like broken ribs.
The television was still on the wall.
Kath stepped forward. Slowly. Carefully. She moved like she was trying not to wake something sleeping in the walls.
Her fingers trailed over the back of thecouch, touching the exposed foam as if to confirm it was real. The mess was deliberate—methodical in its chaos.
The bedroom door stood open. She darted inside, heart in her throat.
Laptop? Still there. Jewelry box? Untouched. Passport. Cash. All of it.
Her pulse hammered. It wasn't confusion anymore—it was clarity. Cold, sharp clarity that made her skin prickle.
"This wasn't a robbery," Kath said quietly, her voice hollow in the ruined space. She swallowed hard. "They didn't take anything."
Ben didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
