Al Knye's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Al Knye knelt by his front step and picked up the worn journal. It did not belong to him. He flipped it open. Her name was written inside, again and again, in a stranger's slanted hand. Al's jaw tightened. He had built his whole life around keeping her safe, and now someone was writing her name like a target. He pocketed the book and walked into town. The dark cottage behind him sat quiet, its tall windows watching the road. Al kept his shoulders low, but at his height, low was still a threat. The tavern was loud and warm. Al stood at the bar and listened. A barmaid leaned close and said a thin man had been in last night, buying drinks, asking soft questions about a woman who lived alone past the willow. Al paid for nothing and left. He found the spot under the red willow where the leaves brushed the ground. Boot prints pressed into the soft dirt. The prints faced his cottage. Whoever this stranger was, he had stood here for hours, watching Al's home, watching her path. Al crouched and traced the print with one finger. His chest felt cold and clear. The stranger was not a rumor anymore. He was a man with boots and a hand that wrote her name. That meant he could be found. That meant he could be stopped. Al stood up. He tucked the journal deep in his coat. He did not go home. He turned toward the road the boot prints had come from and began to walk.