The keys were heavier than they should have been.

I stood on the wide stone steps of the address the agency had sent, staring up at the house like it might decide to reject me on sight. Three stories of glass and dark wood, all sharp angles and quiet money, set back from the road behind a gate that had slid open the second I typed in the code. The text had been simple: House-sit for three days. Owner traveling. Light cleaning, water the plants, make it look lived-in. Pay is good.

I hadn’t expected this.

My sneakers felt cheap against the polished floors as I stepped inside. The air...