Then, at 12:17 AM, I heard footsteps. Not shoes—a soft, deliberate pad-pad-pad , like bare feet on velvet. A figure passed my narrow sliver of light. Tall. Wearing a long coat despite the summer heat. Their face was obscured by a hood, but I saw their hands: pale, too long-fingered, holding a brass key that seemed to glow dully.
Suite E-520 was different. It had no sign. 1250 west glenoaks blvd., suite e-520 glendale, ca 91201
The door was still ajar. I pushed it open. Then, at 12:17 AM, I heard footsteps
