Inside, a girl bolted upright from the bed, eyes wild. In a flash, she grabbed her bag, gripping it like a weapon.

Who are you? She tried to yell, but her voice barely came out. “Sorry to bother you, madam. I didn’t mean to intrude, I was just looki—” Then she saw it. The gun in his hand. Her breath caught, her body tensed. Not again. Before he could finish speaking, she hurled her bag at him, forcing herself toward the window. Why can’t I ever rest? She didn’t care how far she had to run—she just had to get away. Emuel looked down, realizing the gun was still in his grip, the blood from the rabbit smeared across his hands. His stomach twisted. He reached out instinctively. “No, wait! I’m not trying to harm you, madam—” “Stop lying.” Her voice was sharp, filled with something bitter. “Men like you are no good.”