Knock. Knock. Knock.
Mason stood from his seat in front of the door, gun pointed at the ground. Hannah leapt to her feet, the mattress squeaking under her, retreating to the semi-shielded corner on the far left side of the room between the bed and bathroom.
"Quién es?" he called out.
He crept toward the door, gun pointed at the ground.
"Your friendly neighbor." Abraham's voice was easy to identify.
He peered through the dirty peep hole, but it was too grimy to see the hallway. On purpose? Or a result of circumstance?
Mason unlocked the door, save for the chain, and peered out, his gun trained at about chest level.
Abraham stood on the other side, a nondescript duffle bag in hand. The man was either unflappable, or had the best poker face Mason had ever seen.
"I trust the accommodat
