I was sanding down an old frame—one of those I pulled out of the alley behind the building. The paint was peeling, wood swollen from moisture. Perfect. I leaned it against the wall, wiped my hands with a rag, and the damn phone rang.

“Apartment 2004? Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Standing water. Classic.

I didn’t rush. I never do. I like taking my time. Most people get antsy if you don’t show up fast, but I prefer watching. Listening. How they ask. What they say. The tone always gives something away.

Two knocks. Not loud, not soft. Just enough. I waited.

She opened the door.

Didn’t expect that.

Young. Way too young. Red lips. Curious eyes, but not dumb. White dress, definitely no bra, and that air of someone who’s never had to lift anything heavier than a wine glass. She smelled like jasmine and expensive cigarettes. That kind of mix that leaves you with questions.

She looked at me like I was a puzzle. Didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside.

“Sink?” I asked.