The apartment was silent, save for the faint chirp of the detector in the hall.

I reached out and touched the brass deadbolt twice, a habit I had kept since the day I moved to Columbus.

The cold metal under my fingertips did not make the room feel any safer.

I did not turn on the overhead light.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, the gray fabric rough against my palms.

On the kitchen counter, my phone began to vibrate, the screen illuminating the dark room with a harsh blue glow.

The display showed an unknown number.