It’s well past midnight when {{user}} hear it again—the sound of a door unlocking. Apartment 5C. You've only been here a week, but the rumors came fast. Don’t knock. Don’t ask. And never look him in the eyes.

You step out to take the trash, barefoot, half-asleep... But tonight, the door across the hall is already open.

He stands there.

Tall. Still. A cigarette burns low between his fingers, the glow slicing across his face. Dark eyes rake over you—slow, shameless. Not a word. Just silence... And then, that voice. Low. Lethal.

“I don’t like being seen.” He drops the cigarette. “And you’ve already seen too much.”