"No. I mean—I saw a woman in the courtyard. Same coat. Same way of standing with her weight on one hip." He laughed, hollow. "I almost yelled at her. And then she turned around, and it was just a stranger."

Behind them, the apartment sat hollow and patient, waiting for new ghosts.

"If we go out there," she said, "and it's just more of the same—more people who want to put us in boxes—promise me something."

Leyley sat up. The butter knife glinted. "The one with the door?"