Ken.
I latched on the chain and opened the door a crack. “If this is about my smoke alarm...”
“Sadly, no.” Ken looked tired in a way that only group chats can cause. Two quick things. One: stairwell cam caught a hoodie at 7, same shoes as last night. He didn’t get off your floor. Two: someone slid this under the lobby rug. "Probably our Burner Friend.” He held up a printed QR code taped to a note that said: Tonight? Solve me.
“Of course,” I muttered. “A puzzle.” How masculine.”
Ken offered a deadpan nod. “Legal says don’t scan. If you want to taunt back, send them a link to the city’s pothole report.
“We’ll do the exciting version of nothing,” I said. “Thank you.”
He glanced past me, clocked the bowls on the rack, something like fondness crossing his face. “Those are… not bad.”
“Say
