alerie startled. "I—I ran into someone I know," she answered reflexively. She turned back to the bench where the old woman had been sitting.
And froze.
The bench was empty.
No old woman.
No cane.
No shadow.
Only a cold, silent wooden bench remained.
"Someone you know?" Demian asked, his brow furrowed, his voice low and wary.
Valerie stood motionless, her heart once again pounding unevenly. Her gaze swept through the narrow alley, the end of it, the worn doors, the unmoving shadows.
She swallowed.
"…an old woman," she finally said softly.
Yet even as the words left her lips, Valerie herself was no longer certain whether the encounter had been real, or something never meant to be seen by anyone but her.
Demian scanned the alley once more, his gaze sharp and alert. "I heard you met an old woman," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the silence of the night. "Where is she?"
