Around midnight, I hear them.
Footsteps. Heavy. Multiple sets. Not the random shuffle of late-night stragglers heading home. These are purposeful. Measured. The kind of footsteps that know exactly where they're going and what they plan to do when they get there.
Voices drift up from the street. Low and deliberate. Words I can't quite make out, but the tone's clear enough. Laughter that isn't friendly. The scrape of something metal dragging against pavement.
My pulse kicks up. I move toward the window, careful to stay in shadow, and peer down through the gap in the curtain.
I move to the window. Three men stand outside the gate. Big guys. Not as big as me, but close. One's holding a crowbar. Another's got a bat.
The third one lights a cigarette and looks up. Sees me watching.
He grins.
I'm halfway to the door when the first brick crashes through the window.
Glass explodes inward. I shield my face, feel shards bite my arm. The second brick follows. Lands on the bed.
Shouts from outside. Laughter.
I wrench the door open and thunder down the stairs. The front door bangs wide when I hit it.
They're already moving. Backing toward a van parked at the curb.
"That's a warning," the one with the cigarette calls. "Next time it's worse."
"Come back and find out." The words growl out before I can stop them.
He flicks the cigarette at my feet. They pile into the van. It peels away, tires screeching.
I stand in the street, breathing hard, fists clenched tight enough my knuckles ache.
Lights flicker on in neighboring units. A door opens. Mrs. Boris from downstairs pokes her head out.
"You okay?"
"Fine." I force my hands open. "Just vandals."
She doesn't look convinced but she nods and retreats inside.
I climb back upstairs. Survey the damage. Both windows shattered. Glass everywhere. Cold wind pouring through. The bed's covered in fragments. The green blanket has a tear.
I pick up the bricks. Set them aside. Start sweeping glass with my bare hands because I can't find the broom in the dark.
My phone vibrates.
Maris.
Heard glass breaking. You okay?
I watch the message. Type back with bleeding fingers.
Fine.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Liar. Get to the café. Now, Grath.
I grab my jacket and the cigar tin and leave.
