Chapter 1
The apartment smelled faintly of paint and promise. Boxes lined the living room floor, stacked unevenly beside the couch that still wore its plastic cover. Sophie stood in the middle of it all, her hands on her hips, smiling in quiet satisfaction.
“Fresh start,” she whispered, as if saying it aloud would make it real.
Nathan was still in the hallway, wrestling with another box marked KITCHEN. “Fresh start with a bad elevator,” he muttered, nudging the door shut behind him.
Sophie laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ll survive. It’s just two floors.”
He dropped the box and joined her by the window. From up here, the city felt distant — soft, muted — as though they’d found a pocket of silence in all the chaos. Outside, a streetlamp flickered. Inside, the lightbulbs hummed faintly, new but tired.
They unpacked until midnight. By the time they were done, the walls looked less bare, though the apartment still carried that hollow emptiness of places not yet lived in. Nathan fell asleep easily — he always did — but Sophie lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Then she heard it.
Click.
It was faint, almost like the tapping of fingernails on wood. She turned her head toward the hallway. Nothing. Maybe the pipes settling, she thought. New buildings always had their quirks.
She shut her eyes.
Click-click.
This time, it was closer — near the storage closet by the second bedroom. Sophie sat up slowly, her pulse quickening. She could see the door from her spot on the bed — slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness bleeding into the dimly lit hallway.
“Nathan,” she whispered. No response. He was deep asleep.
She got up, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. The clicking had stopped. She exhaled, forcing a laugh under her breath. It’s nothing, Sophie. You’re just tired.
Still, she reached for the closet door.
It creaked open.
Inside were a few leftover paint cans, a broken umbrella, and something wedged behind a box, something pink. Sophie crouched down and pulled it out.
A Barbie doll.
Old. Faded. Her hair matted, one eye half-white as if clouded. She wore a torn dress, a glittery pink that had lost its shine.
“Creepy,” Sophie murmured, turning it over in her hands. There was dust caught in the doll’s fingers, a thin film of neglect.
Nathan’s voice startled her. “What are you doing?”
She spun around. He was leaning against the doorway, rubbing his eyes.
“Found this in the closet,” she said. “Guess the last tenants had a kid.”
He blinked at the doll, unimpressed. “Yeah, toss it. Stuff like that’s always weird.”
Sophie smiled faintly. “It’s just a toy.” She brushed the dust off and placed it on the shelf above the TV.
“Better than leaving it in a dark closet, right?” she said lightly.
Nathan shrugged and went back to bed.
