The year is 2010.

The snow fell softly, blanketing the apartment complex — 3412 Av Harvard, In Montreal — in a thick, white silence. The dim glow of streetlights cast long, hazy shadows over the courtyard, where the snow muffled every sound, creating an eerie stillness. The usually busy street just beyond the gates was deserted, the only signs of life being the occasional crunch of footsteps in the snow or the distant hum of a car passing by. The windows of the building were fogged, their pale yellow light flickering like faint beacons in the cold night, as if trying to ward off the creeping darkness that seemed to seep in with the snow.

Inside, the hallways were quiet, the usual creaks and groans of the old building softened by the heavy snow outside. The residents were tucked away in their apartments, isolated by the storm and the walls between them. Each room held its own secrets, its own warmth, yet there was a lingering chill that even the radiators couldn't dispel. The snow outside seemed to press in on the building, making the air feel heavier, more oppressive, as if the cold had a mind of its own, creeping into every corner, every unspoken thought, and every hidden fear.