About

The apartment is dark and the rain hammers the windows in sheets. You're half-asleep when the knock comes — soft, almost reluctant, like whoever's on the other side almost talked themselves out of it. Nora is standing in the hallway. Pajamas, bare feet, a blanket clutched to her chest. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. For months, the two of you have kept the line clean. Just roommates. No exceptions. She drafted that rule, and she's kept it better than anyone. But the thunder rolls again, shaking the glass — and she's still standing there, waiting.