(Anna’s POV)
The door to my apartment groaned in protest as I shoved it open, the hinges shrieking like they knew what kind of night I’d had. I stepped inside, every muscle aching, my heels dangling loosely from my fingers, the thin straps digging into my skin. The second the door closed behind me, a wave of silence pressed in—thick, suffocating.
But it wasn’t comforting.
It never was, not anymore.
The apartment was small. Just a cramped two-bedroom above a pawn shop, the wallpaper peeling in the corners and the air constantly tinged with the scent of lavender cleaning spray and something faintly medicinal—hospital antiseptic that clung to my skin like guilt.
I dropped my bag onto the couch, and the papers inside scattered with a muffled rustle. I didn’t have to look to know what they
