“Have a good night,” the driver says.
“You too,” I murmur.
I climb the steps two at a time and unlock the front door, breathing in the familiar scent of old wood and vanilla plug-ins I bought in bulk.Inside, the hallway is quiet.My boots echo lightly on the floor as I approach my door.
Apartment 3B.
Home.
Safe.
A place where the past can’t reach me and the present hasn’t fully caught up.
I unlock the door.
Step inside.
Lock it again—out of habit, not fear.
My apartment is small but warm—soft lighting, thrifted furniture, a stack of medical textbooks on the counter, and a skating poster I keep telling myself to take down but can never quite bring myself to.
I toss my bag on the couch and pull out my phone to text Finn, because God help me, I promised him.
Me:
Home safe.Thanks again.
His response is immediate.
Finn:
Good.Don’t make me come check.
(Unless you want company.Then I can run.)
My face heats.
Before I can reply, another text comes through.
But...not from Finn.
Not from anyone in my contacts.
Unknown number.
My stomach dips.
I open it.
Unknown:
You shouldn’t be around them.
My pulse stutters.
Another message hits instantly.
Unknown:
