Face To Face

Shadows cling to the rain-slicked windshield as the car idles before a nondescript house, engine humming like a predator's growl. Lois Brown (Whitney Wright), eyes locked on the dashboard glow, grips the wheel until her knuckles bleach white. Tremors rack her fingers; she sucks in a ragged breath, muttering through gritted teeth, 'Pull it together, Lois.' The ignition clicks off, silence devours the space. She steps out into the chill night, heels clicking like accusations up the cracked driveway. Fist hovers at the door—then knocks, sharp and final. It swings open, revealing James Stinson (Michael Vegas), his gaze raking over her like a hunter sizing up prey, lips curling in wary suspicion. 'Lois, I presume?' His voice drips caution, edged with something darker. 'Mr. Stinson,' she replies, forcing a crisp, professional curve to her mouth. 'James will do,' he counters, eyes narrowing. 'Bit green for a reporter, aren't you?' Her smile tightens, cool and remote: 'Twenty-two, but they say I've got shadows in my soul older than that.' He steps aside with mock courtesy, gesturing into the dimly lit lair—modest, spotless, a facade of normalcy. 'Where do we start this dance?' His tone cracks with unease, a vein pulsing at his temple. 'Your call—somewhere you won't squirm,' she says, voice flat, detached. 'Living room?' They settle there, him on the couch, her perched opposite across a scarred coffee table, barrier thin as trust. She fishes out her phone, fingers still itching with unspoken hunger.