The power died at 9:14.

By 9:31 Lena’s apartment was a box of hot air. No fan. No AC. The window faced a brick wall that still held the day’s heat like an oven door. She stood in the dark in a tank top stuck to her back and listened to the building complain. Somebody yelled down a stairwell. A dog barked once and gave up.

4B had the corner. She had seen his windows open from the fire escape. She had seen him once, late, shirtless, drinking water at his sink like the building belonged to him.

She knocked.

He opened the door in shorts and nothing else. Sweat...