My hands went cold. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember last week, when someone asked for the Wi-Fi password?”
My grip on the phone tightened. Yes. A man who said he lived downstairs. Friendly. Smiling. He said his internet was down.
“They collect information—time, routines,” he said. “And tonight… you’re the target.”
The doorbell rang for the third time. No longer polite. “If you don’t open the door, we’ll cut the power to your unit.”
And then—
CLICK! The lights suddenly went out. Darkness poured in like cold water. My child started crying from the bedroom.
“Don’t turn on your phone’s flashlight,” he said quickly. “Don’t let them know where you are.”
I hugged my child tightly, covering his mouth. His small body trembled in my arms.
Outside, I heard another voice. Lower. Hoarser. “There really is a child.”
“Hurry up.”
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “Love…” I whispered. “I’m scared…”
“I know,” his voice broke. “If they get inside, run to the bathroom. There’s a small window there. Don’t bring the phone.”
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