Murder Attempt

Normally, Kafka could read a person's emotions like an open book. A twitch of the lips, a raised eyebrow, a subtle shift in the cheekbones—micro-expressions that betrayed their thoughts, their intentions, their desires.

He'd honed this skill to a razor's edge, using it to navigate the world, to predict and control.

But now, as Olivia's piercing blue eyes locked onto him, her face was an impenetrable mask.

No anger, no sadness, no shock—nothing.

She stood like a beautiful statue, carved from marble, belonging in a museum rather than this charged, awkward moment.

Her emotionless gaze left him utterly baffled, his mind racing to decipher what she was thinking, whether she was horrified, furious, or something else entirely. He had no clue, and that uncertainty gnawed at him, a rare vulnerability he wasn't used to feeling.