When I finally opened the door, a tall man stood before me, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. He carried nothing but a small, soaked slip of paper clutched tightly in his hand. "I think this belongs to you," he whispered in a low, gravelly voice.
Use (short for tension, long for description).
He extended the paper. My fingers trembled as I took it. Even with the ink blurred by the rain, I recognized it instantly: it was a photograph of my sister and me, taken years ago, long before she disappeared. My heart stuttered with a mix of relief and despair.
Ensure (e.g., correct use of speech marks for dialogue).