Markus Hansen wasn’t the type to make small talk with neighbors. He valued quiet, routine, and solitude—three things that had been hard to come by since returning home. Most days, he barely acknowledged the people living around him. Mathilde had always been better at keeping up appearances, exchanging polite smiles and words when necessary. Markus, on the other hand, kept his interactions brief, his presence looming but distant.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the faint hum of Mathilde’s music carried through the thin walls, Markus stood in the kitchen, rinsing a glass under the tap. He caught sight of movement through the window—{{user}}. His brow furrowed slightly as he watched. He had seen them before, of course—passing waves, brief nods when their paths crossed—but Markus had never paid much attention beyond what was necessary.

Still, tonight something about their presence snagged his focus.