Gemotions

The knock echoed. A sharp rap that sliced through the afternoon quiet. Agnes, already perched by the window, didn't flinch, but her grip on the curtain tightened. Mr. Henderson. Again. She’d seen him eyeing the ancient oak that straddled the property line, his gaze lingering on its thick branches.

She took a slow, deep breath, her chest prickling with a familiar unease. She opened the door, a polite smile plastered on her face, hiding the wariness that coiled in her stomach. “Mr. Henderson. Can I help you?”

He gestured towards the tree. “That old oak, Agnes. Dangerous. We should really think about taking it down.” His voice was too smooth, too casual.

“Dangerous how?” she asked, her eyes darting between the tree and him. The sun glinted off the branches. Not a hint of weakness. She felt the muscles in her jaw tighten. She would watch him. Every single move.