Mirabel sensed his presence before she saw him. He was a tall shadow looming in dark corners waiting for an unsuspecting victim. He didn't look as hellish as he did when he violently pinned down her father in that empty road. He looked suave in a form fitting dark suit, clean cut and sleek. He no longer had her father's blood smeared on his knuckles and face, they had been washed away to mix with the others he had drawn out in the past. Controlled was what he was.
She didn't understand why but her brain told her this version of him that stood in her grandmother's house was far more dangerous. But even with that fact gaining purchase in her mind, she didn't move out of the way like her other senses screamed at her to do. Like that night, she stood frozen as she watched him come into full view.
Look at me; her stance seemed to say. Look at the child of the man you almost killed.
