I brushed my teeth and checked my phone just before climbing into bed. There were no messages, and I didn't bother with turning on music or a podcast to lull me to sleep.
I lay there in the quiet and let the world be quiet around me.
Nothing happened.
The following morning, I woke at six. I got up and made coffee. After my first sip, I went to the door.
Cracking it open as quietly as I could, I looked down at Pratt's doormat. The album was gone.
The hallway was empty, and his door was closed. There was nothing on the mat where the album had been. It was just gone.
I closed the door and went back to my coffee.
Sitting at the table with both hands wrapped around my mug, I didn't pick up my phone. The coffee was enough.
Seeing that the album was gone was enough.
Whatever Pratt was going to do with it, he was going to do.
