I found a note tucked in the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
Ms. Emily Clark, 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 Peters, adjusting the tip of her glasses. And please dont stay late tonight. Youve been working far too many hours lately.
Yes, Ms. Peters, Ill take care of it, Emily replied, 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 worn parquet. The district library occupied the former grammar school buildinghigh ceilings, ornate plasterwork and creaking floorboards that announced a visitors arrival long before they appeared in the doorway.
Emily had indeed been staying late for the past three weeks, but not because of diligence. Since Stephen had left, taking not only his belongings but also the warmth that once filled their modest flat, the house had become a quiet place, punctuated only by the ticking of an old clock inherited from her grandmother.
The library, however, was always bustling. Emily loved the scent of books, the rustle of pages, even the dust that settled on the top shelves despite Aunt Claras best efforts. Here she felt useful and at home.
Emily, dont forget we have a writer coming tomorrow, called Olivia, the young librarian from the circulation desk, popping her head in. We need to set up the small hall and print the posters.
I remember, Olivia, Emily smiled. The posters are already in my desk, the top drawer. Please take them yourself; I still have cataloguing to finish.
Olivia nodded, walked over to the massive oak desk where Emily worked, pulled out the top drawer and grabbed the folder with the posters.
Whats this? she asked, pulling a slip of paper out with the folder.
What? Emily turned toward her.
Just a note. It probably fell out of the folder.
Olivia handed Emily a folded notebook page. Emily unfolded it and read three words scrawled in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her first thought was that it was a joke, but deep down she sensed otherwise. She carefully refolded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan.
Just nonsense, she said, trying to sound indifferent. Probably a student dropped it. Theyre always passing notes around.
Olivia shrugged.
Alright, Ill go hang the posters.
When the door closed behind Olivia, Emily took the note out again. He knows. Run. Who knew? What for? Who had written it?
The handwriting looked familiar, but Emily couldnt place it. It wasnt any of her colleagues scripts. Could it have been Stephens? Why would he write something like that after their calm, dramafree split? He had simply said he no longer felt the same and that they should remain friendsplain and predictable, like a cheap romance novel.
Emily tried to focus on her work, but the note kept looping in her mind. By the end of the day she finished the catalogue, handed over the keys to the security guard, and stepped out into a damp October evening. A light drizzle fell, and the street lamps glowed like yellow halos in the fog.
It was a fifteenminute walk home, usually a pleasant stroll past the old park and a cosy courtyard with swings where children played in the daylight. Tonight, every shadow seemed threatening, every sound made her jump. He knows. Run. Run from what?
She entered the building, breathed a sigh of relief at the quiet, bright hallway, and rose to the third floor where her flat waited. The apartment was as she left it: silence, the faint scent of cinnamon from the sachet shed hung by the door to soften Stephens absence.
She slipped off her coat, hung it on the hook, and padded into the kitchen. She set the kettle on, pulled yesterdays salad from the fridge, and tried to occupy herself so she wouldnt keep thinking about the strange note.
The phone rang, and her mothers name flashed on the screen.
Hello, mum, Emily said, keeping her voice steady.
Emily, love, how are you? her mother sounded anxious. Ive felt uneasy all day. Is everything alright with you?
All good, Emily lied. Her mother already worried enough about the breakup; she didnt need more panic. Just tired from work.
Why dont you come over for the weekend? Ill bake a cake, you could use a break.
Maybe, mum. Lets talk on Friday, okay?
After the call Emily felt even lonelier. The tea grew cold, and she wasnt hungry enough to watch TV. She unfolded the note again, staring at the three ominous words.
A knock came at the door. It was ten oclockwho could be visiting so late? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw Michael Stevens, the elderly neighbour from upstairs, standing in the hallway.
Whos there? Emily asked, just in case.
Its me, Michael. Sorry for the late visit, he said, shuffling in. My pipe is leaking; does any water come down to you?
No, everythings dry, she replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Good, Ill call a plumber tomorrow.
When Michael left, Emily realised she had been panicking over a note that was probably a prank by one of the students. She tried to calm herself, but sleep eluded her; every creak of the old house sounded like a warning.
The next morning she ate a quick breakfast, drank a strong coffee, and headed back to the library. The day was packed: the writers visit, arranging the hall, and processing the latest arrivals.
The library buzzed with activity. Angela handed out instructions, Olivia set chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Clara scowled as she mopped the floors.
Emily, a man asked for you earlier, Aunt Clara called as Emily passed by. Tall, dark coat. I told him you werent in yet.
A man? Emily stopped. Did he say his name?
No, he just said hed come back later.
The words He knows. Run flashed through her mind again. Who was this stranger? What did he want? She tried to focus on the computer, but a knock interrupted her.
A tall man in a dark coat entered. Emilys breath caught. It was Andrew, a former classmate of Stephens whom shed met only a handful of times.
Hello, Emily, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to barge in, but we need to talk.
About what? she asked, voice a little high.
Andrew glanced around, then sat opposite her.
Its about Stephen, he began quietly. And about you.
We broke up, Emily said flatly. If you have business with him, go straight to him.
Its not about the breakup, Andrew continued. Its much more serious. He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
Did you get my note? He knows. Run?
Emily felt a chill run down her spine.
Your note? she asked. What does it mean?
Stephen isnt who you think he is, Andrew said, pulling a phone from his pocket and showing her a photo. In it Stephen was talking to a man outside a drab grey building. That was taken three days ago. Do you know that address?
Emily shook her head.
Its the office of Eastbrook Investments, Andrew explained. Theyve been swindling hundreds of pensioners, promising high returns and then disappearing with the money.
What does Stephen have to do with that? Emily asked, bewildered.
He works at a car dealership, Andrew said. Thats a front. Hes actually one of the organisers.
Emily stared at him, unable to believe it.
He couldnt be, she whispered. Hed never
I didnt want to believe it either, Andrew interrupted. We grew up together, but when I saw him there and started digging, the pieces fell into place. Five years ago he was involved in a similar scam up north, then he changed his name and moved here, met you
Emily felt the room spin. The man shed lived with for four years, who loved cooking on weekends and collecting old vinyl, was now a fraudster preying on the elderly?
Why did you write Run? she asked, trying to steady herself. Run from what?
Because hes dangerous, Andrew said, his eyes solemn. When I started asking questions, they began watching me. The person who tried to expose this before us ended up in a car accident.
Emily remembered the uneasy feeling that night, the sensation of being watched. Was it paranoia, or genuine surveillance?
What should I do? she asked, helpless.
Leave, at least for a while, until it settles down. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, who lived in a small market town three hundred miles away.
Yes, she said.
Then pack a bag and go today. Ill contact you when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Emily sat staring at the empty floor, the reality of the situation sinking in like a cold tide. She walked to Angelas office.
I need to take emergency leave, she said. Family reasons. May I have a few days off?
Angela looked worried.
Is everything alright? You look pale.
My mothers ill, Emily lied. I have to be with her.
Of course, go. Well manage the writers event without you.
Emily hurried home, grabbed her passport, a few pounds in cash, and a change of clothes, and called her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train now, she said.
Whats happened? her mother asked, voice trembling.
Nothing, just I missed you.
She paused by a framed photograph on the bookshelfa sunny beach shot of her and Stephen, both smiling. She stared at his face, wondering how she could have been so blind.
A knock sounded at the door. Emilys heart raced. She peered through the peephole and saw Stephen standing in the hallway.
Emily, I know youre home, his voice was calm, a little tired. Please open the door, we need to talk.
She stood frozen, the note He knows. Run echoing in her mind.
Its about Andrew, Stephen continued once she opened a crack. He told you I was involved, didnt he?
Hes lying, Emily whispered, tears welling.
Listen, Im working undercover, Stephen said, desperation in his tone. Im with the police, trying to bring Eastbrook down. Andrew is one of the suspects. He tried to use you to get to me. Dont trust him.
He slipped a folded paper under the door. Emily snatched it up, shaking.
The note read: Emily, Im undercover. Andrew is a suspect. Dont believe him. Call me, Ill explain. Stephen.
Emily read it several times, her mind a tangle of truth and deception. She looked at the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both held pieces of the puzzle.
She dialed her old friend Marina, now a prosecutor.
Marina, I need help. Can you check these people? Emily asked.
Give me the details, Marina replied, concern evident.
They met an hour later in a tiny café two streets away. Marina listened, then after a long pause sipped her coffee.
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? Emily asked.
Go to your mothers. Itll be safer there while we sort things out.
That evening Emily boarded the eastbound train. As the countryside blurred past, she reflected on how her life had shifted from routine library work to a reallife detective story.
Her phone rang just as the train gathered speed. It was Marina.
Emily, Ive found out that Stephen really is undercover. Hes cooperating with the economic crime unit, Marina said. And Andrew hes one of the founders of Eastbrook.
Emilys breath caught.
So he was using me? she asked.
Exactly. He hoped to draw Stephen out.
What now?
Come back when youre ready. Stephens looking for you.
Emily got off at the next station and caught the return train. At the main station, Stephen waited, his eyes weary but relieved.
Thank goodness youre safe, he said.
Why didnt you tell me before? Emily asked, hurt.
I couldnt, he replied. It was a secret operation. Any leak could have ruined everything. When we got close, it became too dangerous, so I left to protect you.
Protect? Emily laughed bitterly. You broke my heart.
Im sorry, he said, sincere pain in his voice. I had no other choice.
They stood amid the bustling platform, two people separated not only by months of distance but also by a breach of trust.
Im not sure I can trust you again, Emily admitted.
I understand, Stephen nodded. But I want to try to make things right, if youll let me.
Emily looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised she had barely scratched the surface of his life. Now that the cards were on the table, perhaps they could start anew.
Lets go home and talk, she said.
On the walk back, Stephen explained everything: how he had infiltrated Eastbrook, how hed met Andrew, and why hed vanished. He told her that the operation was nearly over, that Andrew had already been arrested.
When they reached her flat, Emily paused at the doorway.
I need time to process all this, she said.
Take all the time you need, Stephen replied, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Ill be waiting.
She entered the empty flat, the two notes still on the table: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both had been true, both had been false. Life was far more tangled than any detective novel she loved.
She walked to the window, watched the city lights flicker, and felt, for the first time in weeks, that she could choose her own path. The lesson lingered clear as the night sky: sometimes the truth hides in plain sight, and the only way forward is to trust your own judgment above all else.
