Page 5

I’m lost in my thoughts when I hear a noise. A thud coming from the direction of my bedroom.

I frown. This unit doesn’t share a wall with other apartments. The noise sounded much closer than it should. Almost as though it’s coming frominsidemy apartment.

My nerves hum to life as I quietly walk through the open kitchen and living area toward the primary bedroom.

Another sound makes me stop in the doorway. This time, it's more of a shuffle. Followed by a mumble.

My skin prickles and my body tenses, flooding with adrenaline. These arehumansounds.

And they seem to be coming from the closet.

Had I not watched Galentine leave, I might suspect she hid here, having second thoughts about leaving her magical building.

But I locked the door behind her. That’s the only entrance, aside from the balcony, and certainly no one came in there.

I debate. Should I call the police? Grab the small lamp and brandish it as a weapon?

Another sound—a whisper.

“Who’s there?” I call in the kind of sharp tone I usually reserve for boardrooms.

The stillness that follows is unnerving. Clearly, whoever is hiding inside my closet has frozen in place.

One way to fix that.

Striding forward, I throw open the door.

There’s a woman.

In my closet.

From the sounds, logically, I could tell there was a person in there, but it’s a different thing to see an actual woman crouched defensively on my closet floor.

With the way she’s cowering, I can only make out wide eyes blinking up owlishly at me. Wisps of blond hair falling around her face. Full lips parted in what appears to be shock.

She’s beautiful, in a messy, girl-next-door-on-a-bender kind of way. But that isn’t my first thought.

My first thought is: “You’re trespassing.”

“What?”

I try a different approach. “Would you mind telling me who you are and why you’re hiding in my closet?” I ask.

She hesitates for a moment, then rises to her feet. Standing, she barely reaches my shoulders. She’s mid- to late-twenties, I suspect.

And beautiful, I catch myself thinking again, then force the errant and unwelcome thought away.

She’s trespassing, I remind myself.

“I’m Willa,” she says, barely above a whisper. “And I’m not sure why or how I got here.” She pauses. “Where ishere, exactly?”

“You’re in my closet,” I reply.

“Right. And you are?”

“The new owner of this building.”

She frowns. “The Serendipity?”