The hallway of the rented complex smelled of old carpet and lemon-scented industrial cleaner. Sarah lived in 4B, a space that felt too small for her burgeoning energy and the textbooks that cluttered every flat surface. She had just stepped out of the shower, the humidity still clinging to her skin, when a sharp rap sounded against her door.

She didn’t check the peephole. She had lived here for six months and knew the only people who visited were the occasional landlord and her neighbor, Victor. Victor was a man who occupied space with an effortless, predatory grace. At forty, he possessed the kind of rugged, weathered handsomeness that made twenty-year-old college girls like Sarah forget how to breathe. He was divorced, quiet, and lived in 4C with a brooding intensity that radiated through the thin walls.