It was a little past 3 a.m. when I sank into the back seat of a taxi, worn out from an endless day.
The city was eerily silent, draped in that peculiar calm that only lingers before sunrise. The driver said almost nothing, but I noticed his eyes flicking toward me in the rearview mirror more than once. Each glance sent a faint chill down my spine.
When the car pulled up to my apartment building, I quickly handed over the fare, muttered a tired “thank you,” and stepped out into the crisp night air. The elevator was out of service again, so I began trudging up the stairs toward my eighth-floor home. Halfway there, I heard it – the sound of footsteps pounding behind me, fast and heavy, echoing up the narrow stairwell.
Panic surged through me. My mind flooded with worst-case scenarios. “Please—please, take whatever you want!” I said, stepping back in fear. He stopped short, panting, eyes wide with surprise. “Miss, wait! You dropped this!” he said breathlessly.
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