Caroline didn't sleep that night. She lay on her back, eyes open, listening to her apartment. The hum of the fridge. The tick of the clock.
Normal sounds.
But they sounded anything but normal.
She closed her eyes anyway. In her mind, the concierge's words kept repeating, the way a sentence repeats in a courtroom.
A man had asked which apartment she lived in.
It could mean nothing, she tried to convince herself.
She turned on her side, then her other side. The sheets twisted. Her body refused to settle.
She could tell herself it was a mix-up. She could tell herself the building was secure.
But deep down, a colder voice said she had earned the right to be unsettled.
Caroline sat up and checked the locks again.
Deadbolt.
Chain.
She stared at them like they could vanish into thin a
