Danger

I stopped breathing and blankly stared at the face that used to be so familiar. A few strands of dirty-blond hair slipped out from under the black cap. His gray eyes—the only thing that once made us look alike—seemed almost lifeless, coated by a thick filter of dark void. The deep shades under his eyes were the proof of more than a few sleepless nights, and a few days' stubble made him look a decade older than he was. One of his cheeks was covered with several round scars that seemed burned. He released my hands and stepped back.

"Sarah, you have to help me," he said, his voice hoarse and ragged.

I looked around; we were in the side alley with no living soul in sight. My lady bag lay on the ground, a foot or so away from me. Drawing a shaky breath, I faced him. "What happened to you?" I asked, even though there were a thousand other things I wanted to say, beginning with asking how he could kill someone.

His eyes feverishly scanned my features. "Sarah," he muttered, locking his eyes