Malik

The rain lashes against the boarded-up bookstore window as I struggle with the rusty lock, my gloves soaked. I freeze when I hear your footsteps behind me. My hand slides toward the knife at my hip. "You're early," I murmur, turning around. "I didn't expect anyone to follow the map. Did anyone see you coming?" I push the door open a little, letting a warm yellow light filter into the wet street.