I found a slip of paper tucked in the desk drawer: He knows. Run.
Ms. Clarke, 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, smoothing the edge of her spectacles. And please dont stay late tonight. Youve been working too many hours lately.
Certainly, Ms. Parker, Ill take care of it, Emma Clarke replied, barely looking up from her screen. Just after I finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals.
Angela gave a small shake of her head and left the cataloguing department, her heels clicking on the aged parquet. The district library occupied a former grammar school, its high ceilings, ornamental plasterwork and creaking floorboards announcing any visitor long before they appeared.
Emma had indeed been staying late for the past three weeks, but not because she was overly diligent. Since Mark left, taking his belongings and the warmth they once filled their modest flat with, the house had become a quiet place, punctuated only by the ticking of an old grandfather clock inherited from her grandmother.
At the library, however, the work never stopped. Emma adored the smell of books, the rustle of pages, even the dust that settled on the top shelves despite aunt Claras best efforts to sweep it away. Here she felt useful and in her element.
Emma, dont forget we have a meeting with the author tomorrow, called Lucy, the young librarian from the circulation desk, peeking through the doorway. We need to ready the small hall and print the posters.
Ive got the posters ready, Lucy. Theyre in the top drawer of my desk. Grab them yourself; I still have cataloguing to finish.
Lucy nodded, approached the sturdy oak desk where Emma worked, pulled out the upper drawer and retrieved a folder of posters.
Whats this? she asked, pulling a loose sheet from the folder.
What? Emma turned toward her.
Just a note, I think it fell out of the folder.
Lucy handed Emma a folded schoolpaper sheet. Emma unfolded it and read three bold letters: He knows. Run.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her first thought was that it was a joke, but deep down she sensed otherwise. She slipped the note into the pocket of her cardigan.
Just a bit of nonsense, she said, trying to keep her voice even. Probably a student dropped it. Theyre always passing notes around here.
Lucy shrugged.
Alright, Ill go hang the posters.
When Lucy left, Emma unfolded the note again. He knows. Run. Who knew? What did it mean? And who had written it?
The handwriting was familiar, yet Emma could not place it. It wasnt any of the staffs script. Could it have been Marks? Why would he leave a warning? Their split had been calm, without drama. He simply said he no longer felt the same and suggested they remain friendsa predictable ending, like something out of a cheap romance novel.
Emma tried to focus on her work, but the note kept pulling her thoughts back. 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 smeared yellow halos through the fog.
It was a fifteenminute walk home. Normally she enjoyed the route past the old park, through a cosy courtyard with swings where children played in daylight. Tonight every shadow seemed menacing, every sound made her startle. He knows. Run. From whom should she run?
She entered the building, sighed with relief at the quiet, and climbed to the third floor. The flat was as shed left it: silence, the faint scent of cinnamon from a sachet shed hung by the entrance to soften the emptiness Marks departure had left.
She slipped off her coat, hung it on the peg, and moved into the kitchen. She set the kettle on, opened the fridge for yesterdays salad, and forced herself to eat something, hoping the routine would keep the unsettling note at bay.
The phone rang, and her mothers name flashed on the screen.
Hi, Mum, Emma answered, keeping her tone calm.
Emma, love, how are you? her mothers voice trembled. Ive been feeling uneasy all day. Is everything alright with you?
Everythings fine, Emma lied. Her mother was already worrying enough about the breakup; she didnt need more anxiety from an anonymous note. Just a bit tired at work.
Why not come over for the weekend? Ill bake a cake, you can get a proper rest.
Maybe, Mum. Lets talk on Friday, okay?
After the call Emma felt even lonelier. The tea grew cold, and she stared at the three words again. He knows. Run.
A knock at the door startled her. It was tenoclockwho could be visiting at that hour? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw the elderly neighbour from upstairs, George Stevens.
Whos there? Emma called out, just in case.
Its me, George, came the familiar voice. Sorry for the late visit, but I thought the pipe might be leaking into your flat.
No, everythings dry, Emma replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Good. Ive called a plumber; theyll be here tomorrow.
When George left, Emma realised she had overreacted; the note was probably a prank from some mischievous student, and her imagination had run wild after bingereading detective novels. She told herself that, and tried to rest, but sleep eluded her. Every creak, every distant car sounded ominous.
Morning found her exhausted. After a quick breakfast and a strong cup of coffee, she headed back to work. The day promised a busy schedule: the authors visit, hall preparations, and finishing the new arrivals.
The library buzzed with activity. Angela Parker issued orders, Lucy arranged chairs, and aunt Clara scowled as she mopped the floors.
Emma, a man asked for you earlier, aunt Clara said as Emma passed by. Tall, in a dark coat. I told him you werent back yet.
A man? Emma stopped. Did he give his name?
No, just said hed return later.
The words He knows. Run flashed through her mind again. Who was this stranger? What did he want? Emma tried to steady herself, reminding herself that any request could have a simple explanationa regular patron or a publishers representative.
She settled at her workstation, but half an hour later someone knocked.
Come in, Emma called, eyes still on the screen.
The door opened to reveal a tall man in a dark coat. His face was familiarDavid Hart, a former classmate of Marks, someone Emma had only met a few times.
Hello, Emma, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to intrude, but we need to talk.
About what? she asked, voice a little too high.
David glanced around, as if checking that no one else could hear, then sat opposite her.
Its about Mark, he began quietly. And you.
Were divorced, Emma replied bluntly. If you have business with him, go straight to him.
It isnt about the divorce. Its much more serious.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
Did you get my note?
Emmas skin prickled.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does that even mean?
David glanced nervously toward the door.
It means Mark isnt who he says he is. And he knows Ive found out.
Know what? Emma asked, bewildered.
What Mark really does. He pulled a phone from his pocket and showed her a photograph. In it, Mark was speaking with a man in front of an unremarkable grey building.
Thats the Eastbrook Investments office, David said. The firm that recently swindled hundreds of pensioners with bogus highinterest accounts and then vanished with the money.
And Mark? Emma asked. He works at a car dealership.
Thats a front, David replied, showing another picture. He was one of the organizers.
Emma shook her head.
He cant be. Hed never
I didnt want to believe it either, David 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, but he slipped away, changed his name, and moved here.
Emma felt the room spin. The man she had shared weekends with, who loved cooking and collecting vinyl records, might have been a conartist preying on the elderly?
Why did you write run? she asked, trying to steady her thoughts.
Because hes dangerous, David said gravely. Since I started asking questions, Ive been watched. The person who tried to expose them before me ended up in a car accident.
Emma remembered the feeling that someone was watching her that evening. Was it paranoia or real surveillance?
What should I do? she asked, panic rising.
Leave, at least for a while, until things settle. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, who lived in a small town three hundred miles away.
Yes, I can go to Mum.
Pack a bag and leave today. Ill contact you when its safe to return.
When David left, Emma sat staring at the wall, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. Yet the photographs and the note were real. She gathered herself and approached Angela Parker.
I need to take emergency leave. Family reasons. she said.
The directors brow furrowed.
Is everything alright? You look pale.
My mother is ill, Emma lied. I need to be with her.
Of course. Go. Well manage the authors talk without you.
Emma hurriedly packed a small suitcase: passport, some cash, a few changes of clothes. She called her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train tomorrow.
Whats happened? her mother asked, voice trembling.
Nothing, just missed you.
As she passed the bookshelves, Emma stopped by a framed photographher and Mark on a sunny beach, smiling. She lingered, wondering how she could have misread someone shed known for four years.
A knock at the flats door made her jump. She crept to the peephole and saw Mark standing in the hallway.
Her heart pounded. He knows. Run. She froze, unsure what to do.
Emma, I know youre home, Marks voice was calm, a little weary. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, fearing even to breathe.
Its about David, Mark continued. He was here today, right? Talked about Eastbrook Investments and me?
How does he know? Emma thought. Was she really being watched?
Emma, listen, this isnt what you think, Mark pleaded. David got it all wrong. I can explain everything.
She stayed mute, weighing her options. Jump out the balcony? She lived on the third floor. Call the police? Would they believe a former husband standing at her door?
Fine, Mark sighed. If you wont open, Ill leave a note. He shuffled away, the sound of his steps fading up the stairs.
Moments later, Emma cautiously opened the door. On the floor lay a folded sheet. She snatched it up and shut the door.
The note read: Emma, Im working undercover. Investigating Eastbrook with the police. David is one of the suspects. Hes trying to confuse things. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Mark
Emma read the two notes over and over: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Whose warning was true?
She dialed her old friend, Rachel, who now worked at the Crown Prosecution Service.
Rachel, Im sorry to bother you, Emma began. I need your help. Can you look into a person for me? Its important.
Whats happened? Rachels voice was tense.
Its complicated, can we meet?
An hour later they were in a tiny café two streets from Emmas flat. Rachel listened quietly, then tapped her finger against her coffee cup.
I can check both Mark and David. It will take time, but well get to the bottom of it.
What should I do meanwhile? Emma asked.
Go to your mothers. Itll be safer while we sort this out.
That evening Emma boarded the eastbound train. Watching the city lights recede, she reflected on how ordinary she had been yesterday, a librarian grieving a lost love, and today she was a reluctant heroine in a reallife thriller.
Her phone rang as the train gathered speed.
Emma, Ive figured something out, Rachel said, tension evident. Mark really is undercover. He works with the economic crime unit.
So he was telling the truth? Emmas pulse quickened.
Yes. And David we found his links to Eastbrook. Hes actually one of the founders.
Emma felt a cold shiver down her spine. David had been trying to use her to get at Mark.
What now? she asked.
Return home. Mark needs you. Hes worried.
Emma got off at the next station and hopped on a train back. The questions swirled, but only Mark could answer them.
He was waiting at the station, weary, eyes filled with anxiety. Seeing Emma, he let out a sigh of relief.
Thank God youre safe.
Why didnt you tell me before? Emma asked, the first question spilling out.
I couldnt, he said, hands raised. It was a secret operation. Any leak could have blown the whole thing up. When we got close, it got too dangerous, so I left to keep you out of harms way.
Protect? Emma said, bitterly. You broke my heart!
Im sorry, he whispered, genuine pain in his voice. I had no other choice.
They stood on the bustling platform, two people separated not only by months of distance but also by mistrust that had built up.
I dont know if I can trust you again, Emma admitted. Theres been so much deception.
I understand, he nodded. But I want to make things right, if youll let me.
Emma looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised she had been wrong about him in many ways, yet perhaps now the truth could finally surface.
Lets go home, she said. Well talk there.
On the train ride back, Mark explained everything: how he infiltrated Eastbrook, how he met David, why he had to disappear, and how he had risked his own safety to protect her.
Is the case closed? Emma asked.
Almost, Mark said. Weve arrested David. A few more pieces need to fall into place.
Outside her flat, Emma paused.
I dont know what the future holds. I need time to process everything.
Take all the time you need, Mark replied, a gentle smile on his lips. Ill be waiting.
Emma entered her empty flat. On the kitchen table lay the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both held truth and falsehood together. Life was far messier 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.
In the end, she learned that truth often hides in plain sight, and the only safe way forward is to trust ones own judgment above every warning and whisper.
