The front door of the apartment building was made of iron, streaked with rust, and groaned loudly whenever it opened—a sound that crept through the darkness and set Emily Blair’s nerves on edge.
She paused in the doorway, glancing up to see Tristan Davis standing on the landing of the second floor.
He’d changed into a black hoodie, tall and broad-shouldered, his back to her as he fumbled for his keys. The lines of his body were sharp, indifferent. Even from here, Emily could sense that air of aloof arrogance about him—the kind that said, “I don’t see you, and I don’t care who you are.” He looked every bit the brooding older boy who still hadn’t learned to grow up.
When Tristan finally glanced down and noticed her, his expression soured instantly. He seemed to glare at her for a second before turning back, jamming his key into the lock with renewed irritation.
Emily closed the door behind her and called out, “Hey!” to his retreating back.
Tristan had already opened his door and was halfway inside before he shot her another look—face like thunder. “What do you want?” he snapped.
Emily almost laughed. According to his ID, he was twenty-two, four years older than her, but honestly, he acted like a sullen teenager.
She dug her hands into her pockets, searching for something, when Tristan’s voice cut in, even more impatient this time. “If you’re done wasting my time, I’m leaving.”
“Wait.” Emily pulled her hand out and waved his ID card at him. “Recognize this?”
He squinted at the card, clearly not connecting the dots, his scowl deepening. “Are you kidding me?” he said, making to go inside for real.
Emily lowered her hand and called after him, her voice casual. “Oh? Not interested in your own ID, then?”
Tristan froze, his back stiffening, but he didn’t turn or say anything.


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