At 3:17 a.m., the knock came.
The reply came before he could lower the phone. wake up motherf****r
Leo sat up, heart jackhammering. He checked the door’s chain lock—still in place. Peeked through the peephole. Empty hallway, flickering fluorescent light. At 3:17 a
The phone buzzed again.
Leo’s hands shook. He tried to remember Friday. Friday was… nothing. A void. He remembered Thursday—he’d lost his job. He remembered Saturday—waking up on the floor with a split lip and a parking ticket in his pocket. But Friday was a black hole. He checked the door’s chain lock—still in place
His phone buzzed one last time.
Not a polite cop-knock or a drunk-neighbor stumble. This was a percussive, deliberate thump-thump-THUMP . Leo groaned, pulling the duvet over his head. The knocking stopped. Then his phone vibrated on the hardwood, screen blazing.