I found a note tucked inside the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
Mrs. Watson, could you check the catalogue cards in the third drawer? It looks like the students have mixed everything up again, said the library director, Angela Parker, adjusting the tip of her glasses. And please dont stay late tonight; youve been working far too many hours lately.
Of course, Ms. Parker, Ill get it done, Nina nodded, barely looking up from her screen. Just after I finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals.
Angela shook her head and left the cataloguing department, her heels clicking on the aged oak floor. The town library occupies the former grammar school building, with its lofty ceilings, decorative plasterwork and creaking floorboards that announce a visitor long before they appear.
Nina had indeed been staying until nightfall for the past three weeks. It wasnt a matter of diligence, as Angela assumed, but the quiet at home since Stephen left, taking not only his belongings but also the warmth that once filled their modest flat. Now the only sound was the tick of an old mantel clock left by her grandmother.
At the library, however, there was always work to do. Nina loved the smell of books, the rustle of pages, even the dust that settled on the upper shelves despite the efforts of cleaning lady Aunt Clara. In that space she felt useful and in her element.
Nina, dont forget we have a meeting with the author tomorrow, called Olive, the young librarian from the circulation desk, peeking in. We need to ready the small hall and print the posters.
Ive got it, Olive, Nina replied with a smile. The posters are already in the top drawer of my desk. Bring them yourself; I still have the catalogue to finish.
Olive moved to the massive oak table where Nina worked, pulled out the top drawer and retrieved the folder of posters.
Whats this? she asked, pulling a loose sheet out with the folder.
What? Nina turned toward her.
Just a note, I think it fell out of the folder.
Olive handed Nina a folded schoolpaper sheet. Nina unfolded it and read three words scrawled in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart missed a beat. Her first thought was that it was a prank, but deep down she sensed otherwise. She folded the paper carefully and slipped it into her coat pocket.
Probably nothing, she said, trying to sound indifferent. Maybe a student dropped it; theyre always passing notes around.
Olive shrugged.
Alright, Ill go hang the posters.
When Olive left, Nina took the note out again. He knows. Run. Who knew? What for? And who had written it?
The handwriting seemed familiar, yet Nina couldnt place it among her colleagues scripts. Could it have been Stephen? Why would he bother? Their breakup had been quiet, almost amicable. He simply said he no longer felt the way he once had and that they should remain friendspredictable, like a cheap romance novel.
She tried to focus on her work, but the note kept pulling her thoughts back. By the end of the day she finally finished the catalogue, handed her keys to the night guard and stepped out into a damp October evening. A light drizzle fell, and the street lamps smeared yellow halos through the fog.
It was a fifteenminute walk home, a route she usually enjoyedpassing the old park, a cosy courtyard with swings where children played by day. Tonight every shadow seemed threatening, every sound made her flinch. He knows. Run. Run from whom?
Back in the liftshaft, Nina sighed with relief. The hallway was quiet and bright. She climbed to the third floor, opened the door to her flat and found everything as usual: silence, the scent of cinnamon from the sachet shed hung by the entrance to mask Stephens absence.
She kicked off her shoes, hung her coat, and shuffled into the kitchen. She set the kettle on, pulled yesterdays salad from the fridge, and made a cup of tea. She didnt feel like eating, but she needed something to keep her mind occupied.
The phone rang, and her mothers name flashed on the screen.
Hi, Mum, Nina answered, trying to keep her voice steady.
Nina, love, how are you? Ive had a strange feeling all day. Everything alright? her mothers voice trembled with worry.
All good, Nina lied. Her mother was already nervous about the breakup; a mysterious note would only add to her anxiety. Just a tired day at work.
Why dont you come over this weekend? Ill bake a cake, you can relax
Maybe, Mum. Lets talk on Friday, okay?
After hanging up Nina felt even lonelier. The tea grew cold, and she stared at the note again. He knows. Run.
A knock sounded at ten oclock. Nina froze. Who could be visiting at that hour? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw the elderly neighbour from upstairs, Mr. Michael Stevens.
Whos there? she called out cautiously.
Its me, Michael. Sorry for the late visit.
She opened the door but left the chain on.
Sorry to bother you, but my pipes leaking. Does any water come down to your flat?
No, its dry here, Nina replied, feeling a wave of relief. Thanks for checking.
Good. Ive called a plumber, should be here tomorrow.
When he left, Nina realised how absurd her panic had beenperhaps the note was a prank from some overeager student, and her imagination had run wild after all those detective novels shed been devouring. She tried to calm herself, but sleep eluded her. The rain pattered against the window, distant cars rolled by, and ordinary night sounds felt ominous.
Morning found her exhausted. After a quick breakfast and a strong cup of coffee, she headed back to work. The day was busy: the authors arrival, setting up the hall, and processing the latest acquisitions.
The library buzzed with activity. Angela gave orders, Olive arranged chairs, and Aunt Clara scowled as she mopped the floors.
Nina, a man asked for you earlier, Aunt Clara called as Nina passed. Tall, in a dark coat. I told him you werent back yet.
A man? Nina stopped. Did he give his name?
No. He said hed come back later.
The words He knows. Run flashed through her mind again. Who was this stranger?
She settled at her workstation, trying to focus on the computer, when a knock sounded.
Come in, Nina called without looking up.
The door opened to reveal a tall man in a dark coat. Ninas breath caught. It was Andrew, a former classmate of Stephens, whom she had only met a handful of times.
Hello, Nina, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to intrude, but we need to talk.
About what? she asked, voice higher than she intended.
Andrew glanced around, then sat opposite her.
Its about Stephen, he whispered. And about you.
Were over, Nina replied bluntly. If you have business with him, go straight to him.
Its not about the breakup. Its much bigger.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
Did you get my note?
Nina felt a chill run down her spine.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does it mean?
Andrew glanced nervously toward the door.
It means Stephen isnt who he says he is. He knows Ive been looking into him, and now he suspects you might know as well.
Know what? Nina asked, bewildered.
What Stephens really doing. He pulled a phone from his pocket and showed her a photograph. It showed Stephen speaking with a man in front of a drab grey building.
Thats the Eastgate Investments office, Andrew said. Theyve been defrauding hundreds of pensioners, promising high returns and then vanishing with the money.
And Stephen? Nina pressed.
He works at a car dealership, but thats a cover. He was one of the masterminds.
Nina shook her head.
He couldnt be Hes always been kind, cooking on weekends, collecting old vinyl.
I thought the same, Andrew replied. Ive been digging for five years. He was involved in a similar scheme up north, escaped, changed his name, moved here, and met you.
The room seemed to spin.
Why did you write Run? Nina asked.
Because hes dangerous, Andrew said, eyes serious. When I started asking questions, I was being watched. The last person who tried to expose them died in a car accident.
Nina recalled the uneasy feeling that someone might be watching her.
What should I do? she asked, panic edging her voice.
Leave town, at least until its safe. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, living in a small market town three hundred miles away.
Yes, I can go.
Pack a bag and leave today. Ill contact you when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Nina sat staring at the empty desk, the reality of the situation sinking in like a wet stone. She went to Angelas office.
I need to take emergency leave. Family reasons. May I have a few days off?
Angela looked concerned.
Is everything all right? You look pale.
My mother is ill, Nina replied, rehearsing the lie. I need to be with her.
Of course, go. Well manage the authors talk without you.
Nina hurriedly packed a small suitcase: passport, a few pounds, a change of clothes. She called her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train.
Anything wrong? her mother asked, alarmed.
No, just missing you.
She passed the bookshelf and paused at a framed photograph of her and Stephen on a sunny seaside holiday. She stared at his smiling face, wondering how she could have misread him.
A knock at the door made her jump. She peeked through the peephole and saw Stephen himself standing in the hall.
Her heart thudded. He knows. Run. She froze, unsure what to do.
Nina, I know youre home, Stephen said calmly. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, fear tightening her throat.
Its about Andrew, Stephen continued. He told you Im involved, right? Thats not true. I can explain.
She remained silent, weighing whether to trust the man she had lived with for four years or the stranger who claimed to be a whistleblower.
Finally, she opened the door a crack and found a folded piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up, closed the door, and read: Nina, Im working undercover. Im investigating Eastgate Investments with the police. Andrew is a suspect. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Stephen.
Both notes now lay on her kitchen table: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Which was truth, which was a lie?
She dialed her old friend Marina, now a prosecutor.
Marina, I need help. Can you check something for me? Its important.
Whats happened? Marinas voice was tense.
Its complicated over the phone. Can we meet?
An hour later they were in a tiny café two streets from Ninas flat. Marina listened without interrupting, then stared at her coffee cup.
I can look into both Stephen and Andrew. It will take time, but well get to the bottom of it.
What should I do now? Nina asked.
Go to your mothers. Itll be safer until we have answers.
That evening Nina boarded the eastbound train, watching the city lights recede. Just as the train gathered speed, her phone rang.
Nina, Ive found out that Stephen really is working undercover. Hes part of the antifraud unit, Marina said. Andrew, on the other hand, is one of the founders of Eastgate.
Ninas pulse quickened.
So he was using me? she whispered.
Exactly. He wanted to draw Stephen out.
What now? she asked.
Return home. Stephens looking for you. He needs to know youre safe.
Nina got off at the next station and caught the return train. At the bustling station, Stephen waited, eyes filled with relief.
Thank God youre okay, he said.
Why didnt you tell me before? she asked, hurt.
I couldnt. It was a secret operation. Any leak could have ruined everything, and I left to keep you out of danger.
Protect me? she laughed bitterly. You broke my heart.
Im sorry. I had no other choice.
They stood on the noisy platform, two people separated not only by months of silence but also by mistrust.
I dont know if I can trust you again, Nina admitted.
I understand. Ill wait as long as you need.
She looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised how little she truly knew about him. Yet now, with the cards on the table, perhaps they could start anew.
Lets go home, she said. Well talk then.
On the way back, Stephen explained everything: how he infiltrated Eastgate, his meetings with Andrew, why he had disappeared, and how he had tried to shield her.
Is the case closed? Nina asked.
Almost. Weve arrested Andrew. Just a few more pieces to finish.
At her flats door, she paused.
I need time to process everything, she told Stephen.
Take all the time you need, he replied, a soft smile on his lips.
She stepped inside, the two notes lying on the tableone warning, one pleaboth halftruths. She walked to the window, gazed at the city glittering below, and felt a new sense of agency.
Life, she realised, is rarely as simple as the stories she loved; it is a tangle of truths and lies. The real power lies in choosing which path to walk, even when the road is unclear.
