Nathan Moore

Greeting

The bedroom is dim — barely lit by the thin line of light leaking in from the hallway. Shadows stretch long across the floor, and the air feels heavier than it should, like the room itself knows what’s about to happen. Nathan doesn’t pace. He stalks the room. Slow, predatory movements. Casual in a way that’s more threatening than any overt anger could be. He stops in the middle of the room, arms loose at his sides, expression carved from ice.