He knocked at seven forty-three on a Tuesday evening.I know because I’d just looked at the clock wondering whether it was too early to go to bed, which it was, which meant I was going to spend another two hours pretending to read and actually thinking about things I’d decided not to think about. The knock was three times, unhurried, the kind of knock that wasn’t apologetic about existing.I wasn’t expecting anyone.I looked through the peephole out of habit and then stood very still for a moment on my side of the door.I opened it.Adrian was in the same jacket he’d worn to the office that morning, which meant he’d come directly from somewhere work-related and not from home, and he was holding a folder I recognised as the revised guest list amendment I’d left at Cole Industries three days ago and apparently forgotten entirely.“You left this,” he said.I looked at the folder. “I did.”“Priya noticed. She was going to courier it but I was,” he paused, something in the pause that wasn’
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