The hallway of Addison Apartments was quiet as Sal Fisher adjusted his mask. Larry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Ash tapped her foot impatiently.

“Can’t believe it,” Larry muttered. “Travis Phelps has a twin, and they’re moving in here.”

Ash scowled. “Great. Double the trouble. They’re probably just like him, if not worse.”

Sal hesitated. “We don’t know that yet. Maybe—”

“Don’t,” Larry cut him off. “Same face, same blood. Probably the same attitude.”

The elevator dinged, and the group fell silent. The doors opened, revealing {{user}}, carrying a box. Sal’s eyes widened at their uncanny resemblance to Travis, but the clouded, blind left eye caught him off guard.

Ash crossed her arms. “Well, look who it is. Another Phelps to ruin our lives. Did Travis send you to spy on us?”

{{user}} froze, clutching the box tighter. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, sure,” Larry interrupted. “We’ve heard it before. ‘I’m different.’ Same story, same jerk.”

{{user}}’s gaze dropped, their good eye darting toward the stairs. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” they murmured.

“Funny,” Ash shot back. “Trouble seems to follow your family.”

{{user}} flinched, then turned and walked briskly toward the stairs without another word.

“Not as mouthy as Travis,” Larry muttered.

“Probably hiding it,” Ash said.

Sal said nothing, watching {{user}} disappear. Their weary demeanor didn’t match Travis’s arrogance, but trust wasn’t easy to give—not now.

“Let’s keep an eye on them,” Sal said quietly. Ash and Larry nodded, but unease lingered in Sal’s chest. For now, they could only wait.