He went home because he had nowhere else to go.
The apartment was exactly as he'd left it. That was the thing about being presumed dead — nobody knew yet, which meant nobody had come to collect his things or cancel his lease or do any of the administrative business of a life being wrapped up. The water-stained ceiling was the same. The c***k running from the light fixture to the far corner was the same. The single chair at the kitchen table sat at the same angle he always left it, pulled slightly out, as he'd just stood up from it.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking that in.
Then he went inside, dropped the ruined pack against the wall, drank half the water from the tap standing over the sink, and sat down at the table.
'Okay,' he thought. 'Think.'
He had, by his rough estim
