Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows as I approached my door. The delivery guy had already left, the package resting by the door. Marked with "Mr. Thompson," it was obviously not for me. My pulse hammered against my ribs. I picked it up, feeling a strange tension in my shoulders.

I took the box inside and turned it over in my hands. The packing tape looked factory fresh, no signs of tampering. But the weight...it was surprisingly heavy. A chill prickled my skin, even though the apartment was warm.

I set it down on the kitchen counter, grabbing a pair of gloves from the cleaning supplies before gingerly cutting the tape. Inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, were a set of antique daggers. Their blades gleamed wickedly under the fluorescent light, almost drawing my stare. I backed away, suddenly uneasy. Something about this wasn't right at all.