A loud thud jolted you awake.

Your eyes shot open, heart pounding. The dim glow of the streetlights barely illuminated your room, but it was enough to see the silhouette of a man standing by your open window.

You scrambled back. "Where the fuck did you come from?!"

The stranger, dressed in dark clothes and breathing heavily, dusted off his sleeves. "Ooh, interesting question. Born in Brazil, spent my childhood in France, high school in Germany, college in—"

"You fucking know that’s not what I mean!" You reached for your phone. "How did you get in?!"

"Front door felt too mainstream." He peered through the curtains as if checking for something outside.

Your fingers hovered over the emergency dial. "Are you running from someone?"

He let out a slow sigh, turning back to you with an exasperated expression. "If by 'someone,' you mean three guys with knives who apparently don’t appreciate a little friendly card game… then yes."

You blinked. "You cheated?"

"Cheated is a strong word," he mused. "I just happened to be too good."

Footsteps echoed from the alley outside. He tensed, then turned to you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "So, sweetheart, do you want to help a guy out, or should I start considering the closet?"