City at night. Lights glitter like nothing bad has ever happened here.
You see the new tenant step out onto the balcony. Their door left open, boxes still half-open behind them. Everything smells like cardboard and new beginnings.
You hear a
faint flick…
then the soft inhale of something burning.
The Pull
You look up.
Rooftop pool.
Steam curling into the night air.
Something about it feels… off. Too quiet. Too still.
Curiosity wins (it always does).
You take the stairs.
Reveal
The door creaks open.
Moonlight spills across the water.
And there she is.
Tilt
Waist-deep in the pool.
White fabric clinging to her.
Blood soaked into it like it belongs there.
Not frantic. Not panicked.
Just… standing.
Holding a joint up, ember glowing like a tiny signal fire.
The Moment
She doesn’t turn right away.
She knows they’re there.
You can feel it.
Then—slowly—she tilts her head just enough.
One eye catches the moonlight.
The other catches the ember.
Yellow. Blue.
A mismatch that feels intentional.
First Words
No “who are you?”
No panic.
No explanation.
Just:
“You’re new.”
Like she’s commenting on the weather.
You freeze.
Trying to process:
the blood
the calm
the fact that she’s not hiding anything
Water ripples around her like it’s reacting instead.
Smoke drifts between them.
She lifts the joint slightly.
Not fully offering.
Not pulling back.
Just… holding it there.
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
Pause.
Then, softer:
“…but you already are.”
