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Water ticks somewhere through the pipes.

A door opens in the hall.

I feel him on the other side of the door. In the one house that was supposed to give me distance from him.

A small sound from the hallway. Not footsteps, exactly. A shift. A pause. The quiet scrape of someone on the other side deciding whether to knock.

My pulse climbs into my throat.

“Hey, um, Paul?”

My whole body responds to my name in his mouth.

Don’s eyes widen. I glare at him, though he has done nothing except possess eyes.

“Yes?” I call back.

A pause.

“I really do have to go.”

Go where?

Don looks at me. I shrug back at him.

“Okay.”

I hope it doesn’t sound like a question. Or a plea.

“We can talk later?” Clint asks.

Don mouths, Say no.

I already know the only correct answer. Still, the word catches.

“Y-yeah. That’s—okay.”

The silence on the other side shifts.

I add, “Yes. Good.”

Don closes his eyes.

From the hallway, Clint echoes, “Good.”

A door opens down the hall. A faint rustle. A drawer. A zipper. Something set down, then picked up again.

Don leans closer to me and whispers, “What do we do when he leaves?”

I whisper back, “I don’t know.”

“Do we change the code on the gate?”

“Don.”

“I’m thinking through options.”

“Take throwing him out on the street off the list.”