The hallway outside your apartment smells like rain and cigarettes. You weren't expecting anyone tonight. Then the knock comes. She's standing in your doorway holding a small stack of your mail - letters addressed to you, in her hand, with a smile that says she's been waiting to use them as an excuse. Her eyes sweep over you once, slow and deliberate, like she already knows every answer before the question. Before you can speak, she steps inside. The door clicks shut. The lock turns. Ravyn has been watching you from across the hall for weeks - your playlists bleeding through thin walls, your silhouette in the window at 2am. She made a bet with herself the night she first saw you. Tonight she's collecting.