The door creaked as I stepped in.
Evelyn sat on the far side of the room, blindfolded, her posture calm but attentive. One leg crossed over the other, hands folded over a closed book on her lap. The window beside her was open just enough to let in the city's low hum, but even with no visual input, she didn't seem the least bit unaware.
"It's nice of you to visit," she said before I could speak. "You finally carved out time to relax."
I blinked, surprised for a second—then immediately felt stupid for being surprised.
Of course she knew.
Psychological Insight. Even blindfolded, she could probably tell the difference between someone hesitating at the door and someone exhausted enough to want company. With enough time around us, she could probably tell who was entering the room by the way the door opened or how the air shifted when we breath in and out.
"I didn't say anything," I said, stepping farther in. "And I didn't knock this time."
