For one second, Sylvia did nothing as her brain, soul, and legs had entered three separate emergency meetings, and none of them had reached a decision.
The phone was still warm against her ear.
Thomas was outside her door.
Thomas Lancaster was outside her door.
Tom was outside her door.
Rina, who had caused this entire disaster with the moral calm of an arsonist admiring a candle, looked unbearably pleased with herself.
Until the third knock came. It was not louder nor angrier, but something about it made Rina's smile lose half an inch.
Sylvia noticed that and found that worrying.
"Open the door," Thomas repeated.
Sylvia did.
Rina's eyes widened.
"Sylvia—no." But it was already too late.
Sylvia had already crossed the small hallway of her apartment, phone still clutched in one hand, face burning, heart somewhere between panic and treason. She opened the door before fear could catch up with her common sense.
Thomas Lancaster stood on the other side.
