Hunter
The morning was as old as the coffee on my desk. I tapped it's murky surface to break the thickening skin and watched the new gap grow. The frigid brown drink dripped from my finger, the ripples spreading toward the rim in ever larger circles. I know I'm spoilt, so used to the finest beans, always freshly brewed and served with half-and-half. I still crave a subtle undertone of hazelnut and my cup to be a festive colour with cardboard around it to protect my fingers from the heat. Instead it is this instant muck, served warm in polystyrene - depression served without a smile. It suits this place though, it matches the beige walls and the melamine desks, it's as welcoming as the unguarded strip lights and the worn blue carpet.
I made my way to my desk to see I had mail. I abandon my coffee and sat down. In the stack of envelopes was one curiously unlabelled, the same as any random piece of junk. I slid it open nonetheless. All it contained was a simple piece of paper. I read the sentence.
Tristan Greyson tried to kill me and you're next.
YOU ARE READING
Only You (Greyson #1)
RomanceClaire Green is living her best life. Not only does she have her dream job as a sixth-grade math teacher doing what she loves the most and making a difference in the world, she has also found the man of her dreams. A sign language interpreter for th...
