I found a note tucked in the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
MrsEmily Hart, could you have a look at the catalogue cards in the third drawer? It appears the students have once again managed to mix up everything conceivable, said the library head, MrsAngela Peters, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. And please, dont stay until midnight tonight. Youve been working far too many hours lately.
Right, MrsPeters, Ill take care of it, Emily replied, barely lifting her eyes from the screen. Just after I finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals.
MrsPeters gave a small shake of her head and left the cataloguing department, her heels clicking on the aged parquet. The town library occupied the former grammar school building lofty ceilings, plaster cornices and squeaky floorboards that announced a visitors approach long before they appeared in the doorway.
Emily had indeed been burning the midnight oil for the past three weeks, but not because she was a workaholic, as MrsPeters assumed. At home it had been quiet ever since Simon left, taking not only his belongings but also the warmth that once filled their modest flat. Now the only sound was the steady tick of an old clock that had been handed down from her grandmother.
At the library there was always something to do. Emily loved the smell of books, the rustle of pages, even the dust that stubbornly settled on the top shelves despite the diligent sweeping of cleaning lady Aunt Clara. Here she felt useful and exactly where she belonged.
Emily, dont forget we have a writer coming tomorrow, called Olivia, the young librarian from the membership desk, popping her head in. We need to tidy the small hall and print the flyers.
Ive got it, Olivia, Emily smiled. The flyers are already in the top drawer of my desk. Grab them yourself; I still have the catalogue to sort out.
Olivia nodded and walked over to the massive oak table where Emily was working. She pulled out the top drawer and rummaged for the folder of flyers.
Whats this? she asked, pulling out a stray piece of paper along with the folder.
What? Emily turned toward her.
It looks like a note. Must have fallen out of the folder.
Olivia handed over the folded scrap of notebook paper. Emily unfolded it and read three words scrawled in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her first thought was, Its a joke. Yet deep down she sensed it wasnt. She carefully folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan.
Probably just some student prank, she said, trying to keep her tone nonchalant. Someone probably dropped it. They love passing notes around here.
Olivia shrugged.
Ill go up and hang the flyers.
When Olivias door shut, Emily pulled the note out again. He knows. Run. Who knew? What for? And who had written the warning?
The handwriting was familiar, but Emily couldnt place it. She ran through the scribbles of her colleaguesno, it didnt match. Could it have been Simon? Why would he write something like that? Their split had been fairly civil, nothing dramatic, just a polite lets stay friends. As bland as a paperback romance.
Emily tried to focus on the catalogue, but the note kept looping in her mind. By the end of the day she finally finished the inventory, handed the keys to the security guard and stepped out into a damp October evening. A fine drizzle softened the streetlights into yellow halos in the mist.
It was a fifteenminute walk home. Usually she enjoyed the stroll past the old park, through the cosy courtyard with its swings where children played in the daylight. Tonight every shadow seemed menacing, every rustle made her flinch. He knows. Run. From whom should she run?
She entered the lift, exhaled in relief as the hallway lights flickered on. On the third floor she opened the door to her flat. Everything was as usual: silence, the faint scent of cinnamon from the sachet shed hung by the front door to mask the emptiness left by Simon.
She kicked off her shoes, hung her coat, and shuffled into the kitchen. She set the kettle on, fetched yesterdays leftover salad from the fridge. She wasnt hungry, but she needed something to keep her hands busy and the mind away from the eerie note.
The phone rang, and she jumped. The display showed Mum.
Hi, love, Emily answered, trying to sound calm.
Emily, dear, how are you? Ive been feeling uneasy all day. Everything okay over there? her mothers voice wavered with worry.
All good, Emily lied. Her mother already fretted enough about the breakup; a mysterious note would only add to her stress. Just a bit tired from work.
How about coming up for the weekend? Ill bake a cake, you can have a proper rest
Maybe, Mum. Lets aim for Friday, okay?
After the call Emily felt even lonelier. Her tea went cold; she didnt feel like watching TV or eating. She unfolded the note again, staring at the three words.
A knock at the door made her freeze. Ten oclock, who could be here? She tiptoed to the peephole. On the landing stood MrMichael Stevens, the elderly neighbour from upstairs.
Whos there? she called out, just in case.
Its me, Michael. Open up, love.
She opened the door but kept the chain on.
Sorry for the late visit, he said sheepishly. My pipes leaking, any chance some waters getting into your flat?
No, everything dry here, Emily replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Good, good. Ive called a plumber, should be here tomorrow.
When Michael shuffled back down, Emily realised shed been panicking over a note that was probably just a students prank. Her imagination, fed by the detective novels shed been devouring lately, had run away with her.
She tried to calm herself, but sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, listening to every creak, every distant car. The ordinary sounds of a nighttime town now felt oddly ominous.
Morning arrived in a blur of coffee and a rushed breakfast. She headed back to the library for a jampacked day: the writers visit, the hall setup, and the final batch of new arrivals to catalogue.
The library buzzed with activity. MrsPeters barked orders, Olivia arranged chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Clara scowled as she mopped the floor.
Emily, a tall man in a dark coat asked for you earlier, reported Aunt Clara as Emily passed by. He said hed come back later.
Emilys stomach did a flip. He knows. Run. Who was this? What did he want? She tried to brush it off, assuming perhaps a patron or a publishers rep.
She settled at her computer, hoping work would anchor her. Half an hour later, there was a knock.
Come in, Emily called without looking up.
The door opened to reveal a lanky man in a dark coat. He was someone shed only ever seen in passing Andrew, a former schoolmate of Simons, who shed met a few times at community events and barely knew.
Hello, Emily, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to barge in, but we need to talk.
About what? her voice sounded higher than she intended.
Andrew glanced around nervously, then took a seat opposite her desk.
Its about Simon, he began quietly. And about you.
Were over, Emily replied bluntly. If you have business with him, go straight to him.
Its not about the breakup. Its far more serious.
He leaned in, lowering his voice.
Did you get my note?
Emily felt a chill run down her spine.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does that even mean?
Andrews eyes flicked to the door.
It means Simon isnt who he claims to be. Hes been investigating a fraud scheme called Eastgate Capital, and he knows Ive discovered something. Now he thinks you might be in danger too.
He pulled a phone from his pocket and showed her a photo. It was Simon speaking with a man outside a drab grey building.
That was taken three days ago. Do you recognise the place?
Emily shook her head.
Its the office of Eastgate Capital, the firm thats been in the papers lately for swindling retirees out of their savings.
And Simon? Emily asked, baffled. He works at a car dealership.
Thats a front, Andrew replied, displaying another picture. Hes one of the key players in the scam.
Emily stared, disbelief flooding her. The man shed lived with for four years, who loved weekend cooking and collecting old vinyl, was apparently a con artist?
Why did you write run? she asked, trying to steady herself.
Because hes dangerous, Andrew said gravely. Once I started poking around, I got a tail on my back. Someone else in the operation even tried to stage an accident on a colleague who got too close.
Emilys mind whirred. Was she being watched? Was this paranoia or real surveillance?
What should I do? she asked, feeling lost.
Leave town, at least for a while, until things settle. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, who lived in a small market town three hours away.
Yes, I can go to Mums.
Pack a bag and get out today. Ill keep in touch when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Emily sat in stunned silence. The whole situation felt like a plot from one of those detective novels she adored, yet the photographs and the note were undeniably real.
She marched to MrsPeterss office.
I need to take a few days off for family reasons. Can I have emergency leave?
The head librarian looked concerned.
Whats wrong? You look pale.
My mothers ill, Emily lied. I need to be with her.
Of course, go. Well manage the writers event without you.
Emily hurried home, threw together the essentials in a small bagpassport, some cash in pounds, a change of clothesand dialled her mother.
Mum, Im on the train tonight, heading east.
Is everything alright? her mothers voice trembled.
Just… I miss you, thats all.
She passed the bookshelf and paused at a framed photograph of herself and Simon on a sunny beach holiday. She stared at his smiling face, wondering how she could have misread him so completely.
A sudden knock made her jump. She crept to the door, peered through the peephole. Simon stood on the landing, eyes earnest.
Her heart hammered. He knows. Run.
Emily, I know youre home, Simon said calmly, though a hint of fatigue crept into his voice. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, fearing even to breathe.
Its about Andrew, he continued. He was here earlier, right? Spoke about Eastgate Capital and me?
How did he know? Was she really being watched?
Emily, listen, this isnt what you think, his tone softened, pleading. Andrew got it all wrong. I can explain everything.
She remained mute, her mind racing: jump out the balcony? Call the police? The thought of a stranger at her door made her stomach churn.
Fine, Simon sighed. Ill leave a note on the floor. Read it, then call me.
He shuffled away, the soft scrape of his steps fading up the stairs. Emily waited, then cautiously opened the door a crack. A folded piece of paper lay on the mat. She snatched it up and shut the door.
The note read: Emily, Im working undercover. Investigating Eastgate Capital with the police. Andrew is a suspect. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Simon.
Emily read it twice. Who to believe? Andrew, a nearstranger, or Simon, the man whod shared a roof with her for four years and apparently concealed a whole other life?
She sank onto the sofa, clutching both notes He knows. Run and Dont trust him. The contradictions tangled like a knot.
She dialed her old university friend, Marina, now a prosecutor.
Marina, Im sorry to bother you, Emily began. I need help. Can you look into a person? Its urgent.
What happened? Marinas voice was edged with concern.
Its a long story. Can we meet?
An hour later they were in a tiny café two streets from Emilys flat. Marina listened without interrupting, then stared at her coffee cup, tapping a finger.
I can check both Simon and Andrew. Itll take time, but well get to the bottom of this.
And meanwhile? Emily asked. What should I do now?
Go to your mothers. Itll be safer while we sort things out.
That evening Emily boarded a train heading east. Watching the city lights recede, she reflected on how absurd her life had become. Yesterday she was a quiet librarian grieving a lost love; today she was a reluctant heroine in a reallife thriller.
Her phone rang as the train gathered speed.
Nina, Ive dug up something, Marinas voice was tense. Simon really is undercover. He works with the economic crime unit.
So he was telling the truth?
Yes. And Andrew hes one of the founders of Eastgate Capital. He tried to use you to get at Simon.
Emily felt a cold shiver. Andrew had tried to manipulate her, and shed almost believed him.
What now? she asked.
Come back. Simons looking for you. Hes worried.
Why didnt he tell me before?
Thats what youll find out when you see him.
Emily got off at the next station, caught a return train, and stepped onto the platform where Simon waited, looking a bit dishevelled but relieved.
Thank heavens youre alright, he said, a smile breaking through.
Why didnt you say anything? Emily asked, the first question spilling out.
I couldnt. It was a secret operation. Any leak could have blown the whole thing up. When we got close, it got dangerous, so I left to keep you safe.
Protect me? she smirked bitterly. You broke my heart!
Im sorry, his eyes were genuinely apologetic. I had no other choice.
They stood on the bustling station, two people separated not just by months of distance but by a breach of trust.
I dont know if I can trust you again, Emily admitted. Too many lies.
I understand, he nodded. But I want to make it right, if youll let me.
Emily looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised there was still a lot she didnt know about him. Perhaps now, with all cards on the table, they could start anew.
Lets go home, she said. Well talk there.
On the train back, Simon narrated everything: how hed infiltrated Eastgate Capital, how hed met Andrew and the other conspirators, why hed had to disappear.
Is the operation over? Emily asked.
Almost, he replied. A few more arrests, and Andrews already in custody.
Back at her flats doorway, Emily paused.
I dont know what the future holds. I need time to process everything.
I get that, Simon said softly. Ill wait as long as you need.
He left, and Emily stepped into her empty apartment. On the table lay the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both had turned out to be partly true, partly false. Life was far messier than any detective novel shed ever loved.
She walked to the window, gazed at the city glittering in the dusk, and felt, for the first time in weeks, a sliver of agency. She finally had a choice.
If you enjoyed this twistfilled tale, do give it a like and subscribe for more! Id love to hear how youd end Emily and Simons story.
