Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Glenn sat on the cracked vinyl couch of his tiny apartment, the cheap blinds filtering late afternoon sunlight into jagged strips across the faded carpet. Apartment 𝟏𝟑𝐁 - a number he hadn’t wanted, but had settled for after months of hunting. 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘺, a low-rise brick complex in the less savory part of Atlanta. He’d chosen it for its anonymity, its distance from his past, even if the old building smelled faintly of mold and something else—something that made the hair on his arms rise. His delivery bag lay slumped against the kitchen counter, the faint smell of pepperoni and tomato sauce still lingering. He’d just finished his last pizza run for the evening, and the silence felt oppressive, like the apartment itself was holding its breath. The city outside buzzed faintly, distant sirens and honking horns, but inside, time felt slowed. He traced the worn edges of the coffee table with his fingers, his thoughts spiraling. It had been almost a year since he left Michigan. Almost a year since Philip Blake.

He swallowed hard, trying to push the memories away. But they clawed at him, relentless. The threatening calls, the shadows lurking just beyond his vision. The sudden tight grip on his wrist. The cold, twisted control Philip Blake had held over him—not just as a boss, but something darker, more invasive. He was sure Mr Blake had followed him here. It was only a matter of time before he found him again.
His phone buzzed on the table, breaking the oppressive silence. He glanced down — a text from Maggie.

𝗠𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗶𝗲: 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆? 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗿𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝗶𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻? 𝗖𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁.

He typed back quickly, grateful for the lifeline.

𝙄’𝙢 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩... 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙.

Maggie had been his anchor since he moved. The best friend who never judged, who understood without needing to pry. She had convinced him to leave Michigan, had encouraged him to start over. But even she didn’t know everything.

***

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴. 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱.

𝘏𝘦’𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸—𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. “𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘬𝘪𝘥?” 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱’𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦.

“𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘱,” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯. “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸,” 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺, “𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩. 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥. “𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘦,” 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮’𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯. “𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦- ,” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, “𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘔𝘳 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘦.”

𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯. “𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱,” 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘔𝘳 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦..𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. “𝘕𝘰, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵, 𝘔𝘳 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘦,” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝗌𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗏𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾, 𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 as he 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥.

𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮. “𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵,” 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳. “𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬. 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨...

Glenn sat on the edge of his narrow bed, staring at his trembling hands, replaying the memory that refused to let him breathe. The crushing weight of that night in Michigan still pressed down, thick and suffocating. He had left that job, left Michigan, as soon as he could—slipping away from the pizza place and the man who had haunted his nightmares. Philip Blake, his former boss, the man who had stolen his safety and shattered his trust.

But Blake hadn’t stopped.

Even after Glenn moved across states, changed phone numbers, and vanished from every familiar place, the stalking continued. Unmarked calls in the dead of night. Shadows lingering just outside his old Michigan apartment. The lingering fear that Philip would find him again. Glenn’s breath caught. No one in Atlanta knew the full truth. Not Maggie, who was his rock, his fiercely loyal best friend—always ready to listen, to hold him steady. Not Daryl, either.

Daryl.

Glenn’s thoughts twisted around the rugged, quiet man who had stood by him when the world felt like it was falling apart. They had met after Glenn arrived in Atlanta, a tentative friendship formed over late-night talks and shared silences. But for Glenn, the feelings ran deeper — unspoken and complicated.

Daryl was stubborn and guarded, his loyalty fierce but his emotions locked tight behind a wall Glenn wasn’t sure he could ever breach. Still, Glenn hoped. He had tried to tell Daryl once, but the words had caught in his throat. And worse — Daryl had stood him up when Glenn needed him most, pulled away because of his brother Merle’s racist and homophobic venom that poisoned everything between them. So the Korean man kept it inside, burying the aching hope beneath layers of exhaustion and fear.

Maggie was the one person who knew some of the pieces — the anxiety, the scars — though Glenn hid the worst of it from her. She had been his lifeline in Atlanta, a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone.

Tonight, though, as the darkness pressed in and his mind drifted back to Mr Blake, Glenn felt the walls closing in. He wiped a tear he didn’t want to admit was there and forced himself to stand. He remembered the nights lying awake in his tiny Michigan apartment, heart pounding when a shadow flickered past the window or a car idled just a little too long in front of his building. He couldn’t prove anything to the police; Philip Blake was rich, influential in town, and always two steps ahead, covering his tracks with a smile and money. The harassment even escalated to in-person confrontations — Philip showing up uninvited at his apartment, always managing to seem “innocent” when neighbors or friends questioned his presence.

It was this suffocating, constant threat that finally pushed Glenn to leave Michigan altogether, uprooting his entire life and moving to Atlanta. But even here, the fear lingered. Every strange noise outside his apartment, every unknown number on his phone sent his heart into a panic.

The owner and manager of his former workplace was a shadow that clung to his past, a nightmare that never fully let go. This apartment, his life in Atlanta—it was supposed to be a fresh start.

But the past was never far behind.

***

Glenn sat slumped at the battered kitchen table, the dim light of a lone, flickering bulb casting uneven shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. His fingers traced absent-minded circles on the chipped surface, eyes fixed on a threadbare spot where the wood had worn thin, revealing splinters beneath the faded paint. Outside, the distant rumble of late-night traffic seeped through the thin walls of Woodbury Apartments, a low, constant drone that only reminded him how alone he truly was.

Woodbury — such a strange name for a place that felt anything but safe. The complex was old, built decades ago and long neglected, with peeling paint that curled like dead skin, and narrow hallways perpetually dim, smelling faintly of mildew and stale cigarettes. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, sometimes sputtering out, plunging the building into darkness for a heartbeat before sputtering back to life. It all combined into a cold atmosphere that gnawed at the edges of Glenn’s mind. He had been here for months — ever since he left Michigan, chasing a fresh start, a chance to bury the past. But something about the place still unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just the creaks and groans of the old building settling; it was something more subtle, an intangible weight pressing down on his chest when he crossed the threshold of his apartment.

His neighbors offered little comfort. Sasha lived down the hall — a young woman with sharp eyes and a quick smile, but whenever Glenn tried to ask about the building or the landlord, she’d brush it off, claiming ignorance or muttering about “not wanting to get involved.” Rosita and Andrea, the couple sharing the apartment across the landing, were equally elusive. They spoke casually when their paths crossed but always steered clear of anything that might hint at who owned the building or who took care of it. Andrea’s sister Amy, just a few doors down, gave him a wary, almost frightened look when he’d broached the subject once, but quickly changed the topic. No one seemed to know anything about the landlord. Which was strange in itself.

The landlord was supposed to own not only Glenn’s apartment but several units in the building, including the infamous apartment 13 — the apartment next to Glenn’s modest one-bedroom. The number itself was enough to set his skin on edge. Apartment 13, dark and silent, with rumors of strange noises and shadows moving behind the cracked windows. It sat like a watchful eye over the complex, a silent threat. And yet, Glenn had never seen this landlord, not even once.

No visits, no knocks at the door, no maintenance man introducing himself or leaving a note. His rent was paid through an online transfer — a cold, faceless transaction to a bank account number scribbled on his lease agreement. No name attached, no phone number, no email address. Just the mechanical assurance that his rent had been received. It was the absence of contact that bothered him the most. No voice, no face, no sign of life behind the authority of rent and lease agreements.

It reminded him too much of someone else, someone he never wanted to remember ever again...

***

𝗔 𝗳𝗲𝘄 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗿...

“𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱’𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱,” 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦. “𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘪𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘱. 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦.”
𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. “𝘕𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬? 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦.” “𝘌𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺,” 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥. “𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩-𝘵𝘰-𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩, 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵’𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴. 𝘈𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴: 11… 12… 13. 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵, 13𝘉, 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 13, 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬.

𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘶𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨. “𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 the one 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘞𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴—𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯’ 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.”

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵. “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦’𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?” 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥. “𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴.”

𝘈𝘴 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘺𝘴, 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭’𝘴 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘦𝘥. 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘐𝘋 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝙈𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙀 . 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸?” … “𝘐’𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘯.” 𝘈 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦; 𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦’𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. “𝘕𝘰, 𝘐 𝘢𝘪𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨—𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵.”

𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘻𝘺, 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘯. 𝘏𝘦’𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘥𝘰. 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳. “𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵… 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.”

𝘏𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬. 𝘎𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. “𝘔𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦?” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨. “𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘚𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.” 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭’𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘥. “𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯’𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. “𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦. “𝘓𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘺.” 𝘏𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯. “𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴, 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦.” 𝘎𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. “𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦.” 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳—𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨—𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴, 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

Daryl was the one who found him that creepy but cheap place. The very same night he bailed at the last minute—his brother was drunk, hurling slurs, and needed hauling out of trouble—so the Korean spent his first night in Woodbury alone, knowing exactly why the younger Dixon chose blood-loyalty over the promise he’d made. For months Daryl kept promising to take the vacant unit beside Glenn, but every time Merle’s drunken rants or back-road scrapes yanked him away, leaving Glenn to face Woodbury’s creeping dread alone—and Glenn, heartsick, understood all too well that Daryl’s loyalty to his brother always outranked the quiet vow he’d made to him. Only twenty-one and barely covering rent with his delivery tips, Glenn willed himself to swallow his sixth sense —telling everyone, including Maggie (busy caring for her younger sister Beth), that he was “fine” because anything else would mean homelessness.

***

The smell of fresh-ground beans wrapped Glenn in a brief, comforting haze as he slipped into the corner booth of Peachtree Perks, a nearby coffee shop. Morning light spilled through the tall windows, catching motes of dust that danced lazily above the chipped wooden tables. Maggie was already there, waving him over with the same steady smile that had talked him down from panic more times than he could count.

She pushed a steaming mug his way. “Double espresso. Figured you didn’t sleep.” Glenn managed a thin grin. “You figured right.” They sat in easy silence for a minute—Maggie stirring foam, Glenn tracing the ring of condensation beneath his cup—until she reached across and covered his restless hand.

“Talk to me.”

He tried to shrug it off. “It’s nothing. Just the new place… weird noises, weird vibes.”

“Glenn.” Her tone was gentle, immovable. “You moved halfway across the country with nothing but a backpack. You’re jumpy every time the doorbell rings. That isn’t ‘nothing." He swallowed, eyes drifting to the window where mid-morning shoppers strolled past, blissfully unaware of the weight sitting on his chest. “Apartment thirteen-B feels… wrong. Like someone’s always standing on the other side of the wall listening. And there’s an empty unit—just thirteen—next door that nobody seems to know anything about. No landlord, no contact, just rent wired into a black hole.” Maggie’s brows knit. “That’s off. You asked the neighbors again?”

“Sasha, Rosita, Andrea, even her little sister—they all give the same shrug. Like the building’s run by a ghost.” He forced a laugh that died in his throat. “Cheap rent seemed like a win, but now—“Now it’s creeping you out,” she finished. “And that’s on top of… Michigan.” The word hung there, raw. Glenn’s pulse spiked. He hadn’t told her details—just that a ‘situation’ with a boss got bad, that leaving was safer. But Maggie was smart; she saw the shadows even when he tried to hide them. He stared into the dark swirl of espresso. “Some nights I still hear his car outside. Even here, a thousand miles away.” His voice shook. “What if it’s not in my head? What if he really does show up?” Maggie squeezed his hand. “Then we deal with it together. You’re not alone here, okay?”

Glenn nodded, though the reassurance felt fragile. He wanted to believe Atlanta could be a clean slate, that Woodbury’s creaking hallways were just old plumbing and thin walls. Still, a prickle crawled up his spine remembering last night’s half-open door, the scuffed lock, the whisper of footsteps that no one else seemed to hear. Maggie broke the silence with a small, practical smile and kind warm green eyes looking at her friend. “First step—we change your locks. I’ll bring my dad’s toolkit tonight.”

“Thanks, Mags.”

“Second step,” she added, “you call Daryl. Make him show up this time.” Glenn gave a rueful laugh. “If Merle lets him.”

“Merle can choke on it,” she said flatly, then softened. “You and Daryl—whatever it is—you deserve to feel safe with somebody. Let him prove he’s with you.” Glenn’s chest tightened at the thought of Daryl’s rough voice on the phone, the warmth of his calloused palm when their fingers brushed. Hope flickered—fragile, but alive.

He drew a deep breath, letting the coffee’s heat steady his hands. Outside, the sun climbed a little higher. Morning bustle filled the street. Life went on, even with ghosts in its margins. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Locks first. Then I’ll call.” Maggie squeezed his hand once more before releasing it. “Good. And if your mystery landlord finally shows? You text me. I’ll be there with pepper spray and a baseball bat.”

Glenn smiled—genuine this time. “Deal.”

For the first moment in weeks, the weight in his chest eased. It wasn’t gone—shadows still lingered in apartment 13B—but sunlight spilled across the café table, warm and bright, and Maggie’s conviction felt like something solid to hold.

Outside, Atlanta bustled on. Inside, Glenn took another sip of coffee and dared to let himself breathe.