And certainty, especially when it comes from someone so small, has a way of unsettling people.
The man on the curb—later I would learn his name was Caleb—didn’t react to her at all. He didn’t look up. Didn’t speak. But if you watched closely, really watched, there was something happening in his body that didn’t quite match the stillness he seemed to be holding.
At first, it looked like breathing.
Then you realized it wasn’t.
His shoulders rose and fell, but not evenly. There was a hitch to it, a strange rhythm that didn’t follow any natural pattern. His hands, cuffed behind him, twitched slightly. Not the restless movement of someone impatient or nervous, but something more mechanical. Repetitive. Uncontrolled.
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