I frowned, scouring my mind for a concrete memory of locking it. All I recalled was a text message from my mom: Have you seen Nick lately? she’d asked, subtle as a sledgehammer. I always liked him. I’d lied through my teeth, responding as I left that no, I hadn’t seen him for a while. I must have been so distracted that I didn’t remember to lock the gate.

Good work, Audrey, I thought as I deliberately pulled the gate shut and twisted the lock behind me. I turned around and put my key in the front door, only to find it was unlocked as well.

My stomach hit the pavement. It was conceivable I’d spaced out on locking the gate, but I was certain—certain—I had locked that goddamn door.

Hadn’t I?

I stood as still as stone, my heart beating loudly in my ears while I tried to determine whether I should open the door. What if someone was in there?

Thump.

Fear shot through my body. Had that been my galloping heart, or had that noise come from within the apartment? Scarcely daring to breathe, I listened for other noises, but heard nothing. It’s just your imagination, I told myself, but I nevertheless wrapped my hand around my key ring, pushing the keys through my fingers to form a spiky weapon.

Once I was semi-armed, I carefully pushed open the door. My apartment was dark, the faint glow from the streetlight throwing sharp shadows across the small space. So frightened I could taste it, I looked wildly around the room, searching for signs of an intruder.

The apartment was a disaster—which is to say, it was exactly how I left it. Sagging with relief, I was reaching for the light switch when I heard someone cough.

Fuck.

I wanted to turn and run, but my feet felt glued to the laminate, and so that’s where I was standing when a shadowy figure appeared in my bedroom door. A montage of scenes from horror movies flashed through my mind, and I swallowed a scream while tightening my hand around my key ring.

Then I noticed the man-bun looped atop the intruder’s head, and my terror began to ebb. Ryan. Ryan was a class-A creep, but I doubted he made a habit of murdering his grandmother’s tenants.

Fear morphing into anger, I turned on the overhead light and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Ryan flinched, shading his bloodshot eyes.

“Answer me,” I snapped, digging in my purse for my phone. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

He dropped his hand and rolled his head so his neck cracked. “I got confused.”

“You got confused?”

“Yeah. I used to live in this unit before you,” he said, looking past me to the open front door. He took a step in that direction, his grungy fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the bulging pocket of his baggy jeans.

“What’s in your pocket?” I asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. Cigarettes.”

“Show me.”

“Huh?”