Page 5 of Claimed By the Mothman (Greymarket Towers #1)
“Um. Hi...?” Nell stuttered.
“This is Theo,” Mr. Lyle replied pleasantly.
The creature gave her a cheerful thumbs-up, then zipped around a corner, humming what sounded like the theme to DuckTales.
“He’s a resident?”
“Oh yes. Very enthusiastic and sweet. His family is nocturnal, so be advised that he may knock on your door in the middle of the night.” Mr. Lyle chuckled. “His parents are attempting to teach him politeness, but Theo is young, social, and stubborn.”
They stopped in front of a tall, sage green door. Its paint was smooth but slightly uneven, like it had been repainted often but always by hand. Mr. Lyle unlocked it with a quiet click and stepped aside.
He didn’t say after you . He didn’t need to. He simply gestured inward.
Nell stepped forward and discovered a sun-drenched, lovely-smelling apartment that was… perfect.
Her feet were met with hardwood floors, dark and rich with age.
Nell took a few steps forward and peeked into the living room on the right.
Tall windows that looked out over the city skyline flanked the walls, their panes slightly wavy with antique glass.
To one side, a balcony waited, the ajar French doors fluttering shyly like they’d been given an unexpected compliment.
Nell looked to the left to discover the kitchen. The advertised window seat sat at the far end of the room. She could already see herself there, curled up with tea and a book—the kind of book with creased spines and other worlds inside.
Nell stepped in and stopped short. There, nestled beside the refrigerator, was a walk-in pantry. An actual one, not a glorified broom closet.
Deep shelves. Smooth wood. Space for things she hadn’t dared dream about in years: glass jars, stacked tins, heavy ceramic crocks filled with baking ingredients, looseleaf tea in rustling paper bags.
She laughed, suddenly breathless. She remembered so clearly the first time she’d ever brought up the idea of a walk-in pantry to Edward. She’d pointed at the (in her opinion) too-small kitchen and said, “Maybe we could add some shelves? A pantry?”
Edward had smiled, the tired-yet-accommodating way he always did when he thought she was being unreasonable. “What would we even put in it? You don’t even cook that much.”
She hadn’t yet stopped suggesting things then. But it had been the beginning of the end of her opinion-forming.
Now, standing in this sunlit kitchen, her hands brushing the edge of the doorframe, she felt something loosen in her chest.
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
“I am glad you think so,” Mr. Lyle said behind her. She turned to find him just inside the threshold of the apartment, hands folded neatly over the clipboard. He tilted his head slightly, as if listening for something only the walls could hear.
“The apartments tend to shift,” he continued, “to suit those who belong in them.”
Nell coughed. “Shift?”
“Nothing drastic, of course.” His voice was perfectly pleasant, but something in it rang with gravity. “Just small things. Windows where there were none. Light that knows where to fall. Closets that grow. This place remembers what people need.”
“Is that common?” She tried to sound casual, but her voice had gone thin. Of course Goldie lived in a city like this, filled with buildings that rearranged its closets to suit your soul.
He gave a modest shrug. “In this building, yes.”
Nell drifted forward to the open doorway of the pantry. Her fingers brushed one of the shelf edges like she could memorize it through touch alone. It was the kind of space she’d always dreamed of having—quiet, abundant, entirely her own.
Her heart lifted, then immediately clenched as she looked around the kitchen one last time: the sunlight spilling like honey across the floor, the window seat that felt like a promise, the way the room had already begun to feel familiar.
She didn’t want to ask, because she already knew the answer. Places like this, places that felt like they saw you, came with price tags designed for someone else.
Her voice came out small, steadied only by desperation. “How much is the rent?”
Mr. Lyle named a number.
Nell’s breath stuttered in her chest. “That can’t be right.”
“It is.”
“But—”
He raised a hand to catch her words midair.
“We are very particular about the individuals we allow to live in Greymarket Towers, Ms. Townsend.” His lips curled into a smile. “Our apartments do not open often. But when they do, and we find the right type of person...”
He looked at her like he was taking her measurement across time.
“We want them to be happy here. And for them to stay for as long as they desire.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “I—yes,” she said. “I want it. Please.”
Something in the lines of Mr. Lyle’s face softened, like a story had just reached its expected ending. “Let us sign the paperwork, then.”
They stepped into the hallway. Before the door clicked shut behind them, Nell turned for one last look. The sunlight had shifted again, leaning towards here like it was interested or listening. The room seemed to be holding its breath.
And so was she.
It felt like…a beginning.