Still engrossed in the movie I was watching, I felt a set of eyes on me.
Looking over, I saw one of the men in Hawaiian shirts glance at me for a moment before he turned toward the staircase, tracking its angle and the landing above.
Another swept his gaze across the living room, cataloging furniture placement and sight lines and the location of windows.
The third—the one with the scar—paused just inside the door and turned slowly, his expression neutral and his posture relaxed, taking in the full layout of the entryway and the rooms branching off from it with the kind of deliberate attention that suggested he was storing information for later use.
I stayed on the couch, my position angled so I could see the entryway without turning my head, the movie still playing on the screen in front of me.
