Lila woke to the soft scrape of paper against tile.
She rolled over in the tangle of sheets, heart already quickening before her eyes were fully open. A small white envelope lay just inside her front door, no stamp, no address—only her name in careful, slanted handwriting.
She padded across the cool floor naked, picked it up. Inside was a single folded note:
Tonight. 9 p.m. Apartment 7B.
Wear nothing you’re not prepared to lose.
—E
No signature needed. She’d felt him watching her for months: the quiet man in 7B who held the elevator when she was late, who left his door cracked when she came home after dark, who never spoke more than necessary but whose gaze lingered like a touch. Tall, lean, silver threading his dark hair at the temples, always in black—black sweater, black jeans, bl
