The morning arrived with a cruel, golden brightness that felt like an accusation. Rhoda woke up with her heart already racing, her sheets tangled and her skin still humming from the memory of Evan's hands. He was gone, of course. He was a ghost who only materialized in the dark, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of expensive tobacco and a silence that felt heavier than the night before.
She moved through her apartment like a stranger. Every nerve ending felt raw, electrified by the realization that she had crossed a line she couldn't even see anymore.
The real world crashed back in the moment she stepped into the hallway to head to the bank.
"Rhoda? Is that you?"
Rhoda jumped, her hand tightening on her bag. Standing near the elevator was Marcus, her neighbor from 2B. Marcus was a freelance designer who spent most of his time at his window, and he prided himself on knowing the rhythm of the building.
"Oh, hey Marcus," Rhoda said, forcing her voice into the professional, calm tone she used at the bank. "Early start?"
Marcus didn't smile. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing with a concern that made Rhoda's stomach twist. "I couldn't sleep. I was up late working on a project when I saw... well, I saw someone leaving."
Rhoda's breath stalled. "Leaving?"
"A man," Marcus said, stepping closer. "Tall, dark hair. He came down the fire escape around four in the morning. He looked like he walked right out of a crime thriller, Rhoda." Marcus lowered his voice. "He looked dangerous. I almost called the cops, but then I saw him look up at your window before he got into a car."
The lie prepared itself in her throat, practiced and easy. "Oh. That... that was just an old friend, Marcus. He's going through a rough patch. He didn't want to wake the neighbors by using the front door."
"By using the fire escape?" Marcus asked, his skepticism plain. "Rhoda, you've been acting different. You're jumping at shadows, you changed your locks, and now men are climbing out of your windows at dawn." He reached out, touching her arm. "If you're in some kind of trouble—the kind that involves people like that—you can tell me. I have a cousin in the force."
"I'm fine, Marcus. Really," she said, pulling her arm away a little too fast. "Just a bit of drama, nothing more. I'm late for work — and I don't have men crawling out of my windows."
She practically ran to the elevator, feeling his eyes on her back.
The paranoia that had been a dull roar was now a deafening scream. It wasn't just Evan's crew she had to worry about anymore. It was the people who were supposed to be on her side. If Marcus kept watching, he would see Evan again. And if Marcus called the police, the precise world Evan had built around her would shatter.
When she reached her desk at the bank, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Unknown Number:
You're being watched, sweetheart.
Not by me. Your neighbor has a big mouth.
Rhoda stared at the screen, her fingers trembling. He was already aware. He was always aware.
Rhoda:
He's suspicious. He mentioned the police.
Unknown Number:
I'll handle Marcus.
Don't fret. Just do your job.
Rhoda looked toward the glass doors of the bank, her heart slamming against her ribs. She didn't know if "handling" Marcus meant a warning or something much darker, and that was the most terrifying part: she wasn't sure which one she preferred.