Most of the afternoon was quiet. As quiet as it could be with making plans and trying to piece together why someone would be stalking Harlow. Now she was sitting across the desk from me, pulling apart her gun and cleaning it. She made these tasks look so common, like she had done it a million times, and it came to her as easily as breathing. “When can we stop by the safehouse to pick up some of my clothes?” Harlow said, still focused on the gun in front of her. In anyone else’s hands, I would worry that they would shoot me across the desk by accident. “We can go whenever,” I said as she clicked another piece in place. “When you are done with that?” “Perfect.” She said with a smile, pushed the magazine in, and pulled
Last Updated : 2025-08-05 Read more