Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Harry Styles
The door closed softly behind me.
I had to be in her flat, her home.
It was quiet inside, even though I'd just seen her enter earlier, I couldn't hear her moving. The lights were off, it was like nobody was home.
There was no plan, I really had no idea what the fuck I was doing following her inside when I knew she wanted to kill me. I'd never forget that cold look in her eyes. I wasn't scared of her, I knew if I really wanted to and if I didn't give a shit about hurting her physically either, I could overpower her.
But wandering through her flat, taking those first initial steps, it felt like there were a million pairs of eyes on me. Every rational thought in my head was screaming at me to leave.
I was in what seemed to be the living room when I walked inside. A large window across the room ahead of me that I could see the city lights out of since it was pretty dark already. In front of the window was a small seating area with a couch and some small chairs, blankets draped over both. A closed book with a bookmark sat on one of them. I couldn't see what book it was. There were bookshelves on either side of the window too, messy and unorganised, but it looked cared for, messy in the way that it was used and overcrowded with everything decorating the shelves. It seemed like a simple flat, tidy and cosy for someone I knew was such a ruthless killer. There was one lamp in the corner of the room. It was a gentle light that cascaded a warm glow across the room.
After glancing briefly around the room, taking in the surroundings, I made my way further inside, trying to take small quiet footsteps. I knew she was inside, but after seeing her trying to walk and assuming she was drunk, I wondered if maybe she'd gone straight to bed.
Another part of me was sure she had seen me follow her and was going to pounce out of nowhere and stab me. Again.
Slowly pushed open the first closest door to where I was standing. Again, it was dark inside, empty. It was just the kitchen. A little round dining table with two chairs, a vase of dying flowers in the centre of the table. The counters were all clean, there was no sign of anything being used, no unwashed pots or dishes.
The next room I entered once leaving the kitchen was where I thought I would find Winter asleep and drunk. Her bedroom. The bed was directly in front of the door, the room was pretty big but it still felt cosy, again, unlike how I thought she would live. But then again, I'd never really thought about it. She was still a person who wanted to live somewhere nice, even if she paid for it by murdering people. The bed was made, white linen sheets neatly decorated with pillows, there was another blanket draped across the foot of the bed.
Even though she wasn't in here and I was looking for her, I walked further into her room. This was as close as I could get to knowing her. I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to know what she ate for breakfast, what perfume she used, what time she went to bed. I wanted to know how she lived when she wasn't working. If she had any sort of conscience or was the complete psychopath everyone thought she was.
