But the walls knew. And now, so did he. Betrayal, Suspense, Dramatic Irony.
"Hono..." Citra’s voice moaned, a sound Raka knew intimately, now weaponized against him. "He... he doesn't know."
Raka pressed his ear to the door. The cheap wood transmitted every sound, every rustle of fabric, every creak of the bedsprings that had heard their own secrets just nights before. He clenched the plastic bag of food until the handles dug into his fingers.
