The building always went quiet after eleven.

Most of the residents were asleep or still out. The lobby lights dimmed to night mode. The only person still moving through the halls on a regular schedule was the night guard—Roman Hale, mid-forties, tall, broad-shouldered, always in the dark blue uniform shirt with the sleeves rolled once by the time the clock passed midnight. He had worked the building for two years. Most tenants nodded at him and kept walking. I had started staying up later than I should, listening for the soft sound of his keys on the stairwell.

I lived on the fourth floor. Unit 4B. Single. Quiet. The kind...