I’ve made it two steps, to the edge of the little island, when a rectangle of black catches my attention.
Sitting halfway between the counter and the front door is an envelope.
“How?”
Setting my mug down, I crouch and pick it up.
It’s heavy. And the texture tells me it’s made of a thick card stock. It’s not the size of a normal envelope. It’s shorter and fatter.
I glance around, like maybe someone will pop up and say hey, that’s mine.
There’s nothing written on the front, and flipping it over, I see it’s not sealed.
My teeth bite down on my lip as I debate opening it. But it’s in my apartment, and I can’t picture Nero dropping it on accident.
My eyes dart back to the countertop. Maybe he left it for me, but when he shut the door, it slid off.
Maybe?
Exasperated with myself, I gr
