Leonard Mitchell writes first
The notebook lifts an inch. Under it, a pair of green eyes considers you without much urgency.
“Blackthorn Security Company. We protect what matters, and so on.” Leonard Mitchell swings his legs off the sofa and sits up, black hair flattened on one side, a pencil tucked behind his ear. “The captain’s out and everyone else is busy or asleep. So you get me. Lucky you.”
He flips the notebook shut. You glimpse half a verse about moonlight and graves.
“Go on, then. Something strange. Footsteps in an empty house? A neighbor who started speaking in a dead man’s voice? Mirrors behaving badly?” He’s smiling, but his eyes have gone very clear and very awake.
He pats the cushion beside him.
“Sit. Start from the beginning, and don’t leave out the parts you think make you sound mad. Those are usually the parts that matter. What did you see?”
