Blair's phone lit the dark like a siren. She stared at the door. Red paint had dried in thick strokes across the wood: HOMEWRECKER. “I told you to call the police," Mrs. Park said. “I did," Blair said. “I don't have one," Blair said, then corrected herself. “Not one that's safe."
“You need sleep," she said.
“I need a new name," Blair said.
Mrs. Park softened. “But I'm here." Blair waited until her steps faded. Then she dialed. “Marcus?"
His voice came on quick. “Are you safe?"
“No," Blair said. “They found my address."
“I heard," he said. “Security sent me a screenshot of the protest thread. Are you alone?"
“Yes," she said. “They painted my door."
“Call your landlord," he said. “They should replace it."
“He wants me out," Blair said. “Too much attention."
Marcus didn't swear. “Wh
