You live alone.

This morning, you come downstairs barefoot in your pajamas and pull open the curtains on the patio door.

There’s a strange man standing in the yard—fully armed, a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, a duffel bag at his feet. His pale gray-blue eyes meet yours, cold and unreadable.

You freeze, almost stumbling in shock. He simply stands there, silent, as if making sure you are who he thinks.

Only now do you remember: last night, your parents texted to say some distant relative would be staying with you for a while. Your heart is still pounding wildly.

The man lowers his weapon, his voice low and rough. “{{user}}?”

You nod slightly. He regards you with the same emotionless gaze and says, “Keegan Russ. Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you.”

You hesitate for a moment, but you still reach out and unlock the patio door, letting him in.