Sophia Reid had always found beauty in silence.
While others might find her world lonely a soundless existence punctuated only by vibrations and visual cues she'd learned to see what hearing people missed. The subtle shift in someone's posture that revealed a lie. The way lips formed words that contradicted the smile above them. The truth that lived in gestures and expressions, invisible to those distracted by noise.
Tonight, that gift would become a curse.
It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday, and Sophia sat at her easel by the window of her Brooklyn apartment, adding final touches to a commission piece. The portrait was of a young bride, and Sophia was trying to capture that particular mixture of joy and terror that came with promises of forever. Her brush moved in careful strokes, mixing titanium white with just a hint of yellow ochre for the highlights.
She'd chosen this apartment specifically for the light the way the streetlamps cast a warm glow through the massive industrial windows, the northern exposure that gave her perfect conditions for painting during the day. The fact that it overlooked a courtyard surrounded by other converted warehouses had seemed charming when she'd signed the lease two years ago. A little community of artists and young professionals, each visible in their own lit windows like human aquariums.
Sophia often watched her neighbors. Not in a creepy way at least, she told herself it wasn't creepy. But when your world is visual, when you read people's faces and bodies the way others listen to conversations, you can't help but observe. She knew which couple fought every Thursday night. Which elderly man ate the same dinner at the same time every evening. Which young professional practiced yoga at dawn in nothing but boxer briefs.
It was anthropology, she reasoned. Human behavior in its natural habitat.
She was mixing a new shade of cream when movement in the building directly across the courtyard caught her attention. Third floor, corner unit an apartment that had been dark and empty for months. Now, lights blazed, and two men stood in what appeared to be a heated argument.
Sophia's hand stilled on her brush. The men were sharply dressed, both in suits despite the late hour. One was tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair, the other shorter with a shaved head. The taller man was agitated, his movements sharp and aggressive. The shorter one kept his hands raised in a placating gesture.
Without thinking, Sophia found herself reading their lips a skill she'd honed since childhood, though it wasn't always reliable. People mumbled, turned away, spoke too quickly. But these men were facing each other directly, their argument intense enough that their enunciation was clear.
The shorter man: "…didn't sign up for this… too far…"
The taller one: "You knew what this was… no loose ends…"
Sophia's heart began to beat faster. She should look away. Close her curtains. Mind her own business. But she was transfixed, watching the drama unfold like a silent film.
The shorter man: "…can't just kill… innocent…"
The taller man pulled something from inside his jacket. Even from across the courtyard, even in the imperfect light, Sophia recognized the shape. A gun.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The shorter man backed away, shaking his head, hands raised higher now. Not placating. Pleading.
"Please… family… daughter…"
The taller man's face was cold, emotionless. He raised the gun with steady hands, professional precision.
Sophia wanted to move, to run, to close her eyes. But she was frozen, her body locked in place as she watched the muzzle flash. Once. Twice. Three times.
The shorter man crumpled to the floor, disappearing from view below the window frame.
Sophia's brush clattered to the floor, spattering cream-colored paint across the hardwood. Her hands flew to her mouth, though no sound escaped couldn't escape. Her scream lived only in her mind, trapped like everything else in her silent world.
The tall man stood over his victim for a moment, then holstered the gun. He pulled out his phone, typed something, then looked up.
Directly at Sophia's window.
Their eyes met across the courtyard, across the space between two lit windows in the darkness. Sophia couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Could only stare back at the man who had just committed murder.
He had striking features sharp cheekbones, intense eyes, a face that would be handsome if it weren't currently so cold. He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, and Sophia saw the calculation happening behind those eyes. Weighing options. Assessing threats.
Then he smiled. Actually smiled. A slow, dangerous curve of lips that made Sophia's blood turn to ice.
He raised his hand and waved.
The casual gesture broke Sophia's paralysis. She stumbled backward, crashed into her easel, sent the portrait flying. Her hands shook violently as she grabbed the curtains and yanked them closed, plunging her apartment into semi-darkness.
Her phone. She needed her phone. Had to call the police. Report a murder. Give them the address, the apartment number, a description of the killer.
Sophia scrambled across her apartment, found her phone on the kitchen counter. Her fingers trembled so badly she could barely unlock the screen. She pulled up her text conversation with Maya, her best friend and the person who usually helped her navigate situations that required phone calls.
Maya, emergency. Call 911. I just witnessed a murder. Man shot in apartment across from mine. Send police.
She included the address, the apartment number, then sank onto her kitchen floor with her back against the cabinets, hugging her knees to her chest. The phone vibrated in her hand Maya calling. Sophia declined it, texted instead:
Can't talk. Just call police. Please. Hurry.
OMG are you safe? Should I come over?
No. Yes. I don't know. Just call them.
Calling now. Don't move. Stay away from windows.
Sophia sat in her dark kitchen, watching her phone, waiting for some indication that help was coming. Minutes crawled by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Finally, Maya: Police are on their way. They said to stay inside and wait for them. Are you SURE you're safe?
I don't know. He saw me. The killer. He looked right at me.
Oh god. Sophia. I'm coming over.
No. Police will be here soon. I'll be okay.
But would she? The man had seen her face. Knew exactly which apartment she was in. And he'd smiled. Like this was all a game he was already winning.
Sophia forced herself to stand, to peek through her curtains. The apartment across the way was dark now, lights off, no movement. Had he left? Was he cleaning up the scene? Or was he
Her apartment lights flickered on.
Sophia spun around, heart in her throat. But she was alone. She'd accidentally hit the switch when she stood up. Get it together, she told herself. You're safe. The police are coming. Everything will be fine.
Except it wouldn't be. Deep in her gut, Sophia knew this was just the beginning.
She went to her window again, looking down at the street for police cars. Nothing yet. The courtyard below was empty, peaceful, giving no indication of the violence that had just occurred.
Then she saw him.
The killer, standing on the sidewalk directly below her window, looking up. Even from four stories up, Sophia could see his face clearly in the streetlight. Could see the way he studied her building, memorizing it.
He pulled out his phone, typed something, then pocketed it. Gave her window one last look a look that felt like a promise or a threat, maybe both and walked away.
Sophia sank onto her couch, shaking uncontrollably. She'd just witnessed a murder. She could identify the killer. She'd be the star witness in a homicide case.
Or she'd be the next victim.
The police arrived twenty minutes later a patrol car, lights flashing but no siren. Sophia watched from her window as two uniformed officers entered the building across the courtyard. Watched as more police arrived. Crime scene tape. Detectives in suits. The whole machinery of justice kicking into gear.
A knock at her door made her jump. She checked the peephole two police officers, a man and a woman, both looking official and serious.
Sophia opened the door but kept the chain lock engaged. The female officer held up her badge, spoke slowly and clearly, facing Sophia directly so she could read her lips.
"Miss Reid? I'm Officer Chen. This is Officer Martinez. We understand you called in a possible homicide?"
Sophia nodded, unhooked the chain, and let them inside. For the next hour, she gave her statement writing some parts, signing others, explaining about her deafness and her lip-reading abilities. Officer Chen was patient and thorough, making sure Sophia felt heard and safe.
"The apartment was registered to a Michael Torres," Officer Chen explained, showing Sophia a photo on her phone. "Is this the man you saw killed?"
Sophia studied the photo the shorter man, the victim. She nodded.
"And you can describe the shooter?"
Sophia could do better than that. She grabbed her sketchpad and, with hands that had steadied now that she had purpose, began to draw. Years of portrait work had trained her eye for faces. She captured the sharp cheekbones, the intense eyes, the cruel curve of his smile.
Officer Chen studied the drawing with a strange expression. "This is… very detailed. You're certain this is what he looked like?"
Sophia nodded firmly.
The two officers exchanged a glance that made Sophia's stomach tighten. They knew something. Something they weren't saying.
"Miss Reid," Officer Martinez said carefully, "we're going to have detectives come by tomorrow to take a more detailed statement. In the meantime, keep your doors and windows locked. If you see anything suspicious, call 911 immediately."
"Do you know who he is?" Sophia wrote on her notepad, holding it up. "The killer?"
Another exchange of glances. "We're looking into several possibilities," Officer Chen said, which was clearly a non-answer. "Please don't discuss the details of what you saw with anyone except law enforcement. For your own safety."
After they left, Sophia stood at her door, multiple locks engaged, feeling more frightened than before. The police knew something. They'd recognized her drawing. Which meant the killer wasn't some random criminal he was someone they knew. Someone dangerous enough that they were warning her about safety before they'd even confirmed the murder.
Sophia returned to her window, unable to help herself. The building across the courtyard was now crawling with police. Crime scene investigators in white suits. Photographers documenting everything. Justice in action.
But all she could think about was the way the killer had smiled at her. The way he'd waved.
Like they were neighbors. Like they'd be seeing each other again real soon.
Sophia closed her curtains, turned off her lights, and sat in the darkness of her living room, watching the shadows and jumping at every creak of the old building settling.
Sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the muzzle flash. Saw the victim falling. Saw that cold, handsome face looking up at her with a smile that promised she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.
At 3 AM, exhausted but still wired, Sophia finally dozed off on her couch, still fully dressed, all the lights in her apartment blazing.
She dreamed of windows and watching eyes and men with guns who smiled while they pulled the trigger.
When morning came, Sophia woke to her phone vibrating with a text from Maya: Coming over with coffee and bagels. Don't argue. We need to talk.
Sophia smiled weakly at her friend's protectiveness. At least she wasn't alone in this. She had Maya. She had the police. She'd done the right thing.
Everything would be okay.
She was still telling herself that lie when she went to her window to let in the morning light and saw the moving truck parked below.
Workers carried furniture into her building. Her floor. The apartment directly next to hers the one that had been vacant for months.
And supervising the move, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, looking up at her building with those same intense eyes from last night, was the killer.
He caught her staring, smiled that dangerous smile, and waved again.
Sophia stumbled backward, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her temples. This wasn't possible. This wasn't happening.
The man who'd murdered someone in cold blood twelve hours ago was moving in next door.
And from the look on his face, he knew exactly which apartment was hers.