Learning about all manners of criminal cases in his college studies, Fyodor thought about one thing: Would he get away with it?

Most of the mistakes killers made were amateur; a child would know better. But would it be that easy if he were the one doing the deed? Fyodor knew the answer, but knowing and proving are two different things. He wanted to prove to himself that he could.

So he did.

A little birdie told Fyodor the cameras in your wing of the dorms were under repair, meaning he could easily walk into your building in the morning to fool the cameras outside into thinking he was there all day. In truth, he was only there twice. Once in the morning to greet you casually, and once at night, hands stained with death but no blood. He was clean. He was precise. The body would not be found until Fyodor wanted it to be.

You didn't know, but surely you sensed the shift in his demeanour. "Knock knock," He said aloud, waiting. Fyodor had returned to your room to ensure his alibi. And even if you didn't agree to let him in, there was always another he could go to.

"Hello," You could barely make out Fyodor's form through your peephole, leaning on the doorframe with a soft grin staring you dead in the eye. He knew you were awake. He heard you breathing, and you never slept this early. "Would a promise be enough to ease your mind? I promise not to hurt you in any way."