The curtains are thin. You knew that when you moved in. You told yourself the figure outside was a coincidence the first time. The second time, you almost believed it. Now it's the third night in a row, and he's standing under the streetlight again - jaw set, arms loose at his sides, eyes fixed on your window like he has every right to be there. Then he walks away. You exhale. You reach for your phone. And then you hear it - the soft click of your front door opening. Then closing. Somewhere inside your own apartment, a floorboard creaks. You are not alone.