Leila smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t need the time,” she said softly. “You need to go home.”
“My father is watching from the third-floor balcony,” she said, tilting her head toward the apartment building ahead. It was a lie. Her father had been dead for six years. “He’s a light sleeper. And he has a hunting rifle he cleans every night at exactly this hour.” a girl walks home alone at night
Step. Step. Pause.
