Page 8 of Molt

I look up and another drop falls hitting my cheek.

My heart stops.

There’s a dark spot spreading across the ceiling directly beneath apartment 305.

“No.”

Another drop then another.

I don’t think. I don’t call anyone. I don’t even grab shoes. I just spin and run out of my apartment toward the stairwell and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Third floor.

My feet slap against cold concrete. Apartment 305 sits at the end of the hall.

The door is black.

Of course it fucking is.

I pound on it. “Hello?”

Nothing.

I knock again. “Are you hurt?”

Silence.

I reach for my phone but the door opens and I forget what I was going to say.

He’s taller than I remember. Much taller.

Dark hair falls across his forehead. His face is pale, sharp, exhausted. Beautiful in a way that immediately makes me uncomfortable. But that isn’t why I can’t speak.

Blood runs from his nose and he wipes it with the back of his hand then his eyes move over me…not hungrily or even with curiosity but…with sadness. Like he’s looking at someone standing beside a coffin.

“Lenora.”

Hearing my name in his voice does something strange to my chest.

I step backward. “How do you know my name?”

He closes his eyes and for a second, his face crumples like my question hurts.

When he opens them again, whatever was there is gone. “My name is August.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know.” He says so quietly I almost miss it.

“Why do you have my number?”

He looks past me toward the stairwell. “Go downstairs.”

“What?”

“Lock your door.”

“You texted me.”