“Yes.”
Ghost exhales slow. “You sure you wanna go there?”
“Not your business.”
“Fine.”Click.
That’s Ghost. No lecture. Just action.
My phone buzzes less than a minute later.
Address. Unit number.
My blood ices over.
That building’s not where you live when life is good. It’s where you go when you’re broke. Or hiding. Or both.
I’m moving before I can think too hard.
Ride’s short. Too much room for my brain to spiral.
I park. Kill the engine. Take the stairs two at a time.
Her door’s at the end of the hall.
I knock. Hard. Once.
Nothing.
Again. “Ava.”
Silence.
Then I hear it. A breath. A scrape.
She’s there.
And I scared her.
I close my eyes for a beat.Fuck.
I lower my voice. “Ava. It’s me. I come by the coffee truck every day.”
Nothing.
I lean in. Calm. Quiet. “You don’t have to open the door. Just crack it. Let me see you.”
Silence stretches.
Then the lock clicks.
The chain holds, but the door shifts open.
Her face appears in the gap—pale, tense, eyes wide and searching. She scans the patch. The cut. The size of me.
Fear flickers, but not of me. More like her guard’s trying to stay up and losing.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispers.
