The next house down was quieter. A modest porch with wind chimes and a well-tended rose bush. She knocked, and after a long pause, a young couple answered. They hesitated at first—exchanged a look—but eventually, the man stepped aside. “Come in,” he said. “You’re the one who moved into number 12?”
“Yes, just a few months ago,” Rose replied, setting the doughnuts on the kitchen counter. “Thought I’d introduce myself properly.” She kept her voice light, casual. Not a trace of insomnia or fear. The couple offered her coffee, and for a moment, it felt like a normal morning. 20