Chapter 6: Rent and Revelations

"Sir, is something wrong?"

Natalie had already opened the door.

"Nothing."

I waved my hand, signaling her to go upstairs.

I could hear the echo of our footsteps on the stairs, and the way her keys jingled nervously. A group of teens were arguing down the hall, their voices bouncing off the walls and fading into the late afternoon.

These days, with the economy rough, places like this—costing only a few hundred bucks a month—have become the first choice for young people working away from home. Whether the environment is good or not is a secondary concern. It’s hard enough just to survive. How many people in their twenties can buy a car or a house on their own, without their parents’ help?

It’s a kind of helplessness.

Natalie lived on the fourth floor. The landlord had probably wanted to maximize the number of rooms, so in less than nine hundred square feet, excluding the stairwell, they’d carved out five rooms.

The hallway smelled like burnt toast and old socks. Every door had a different color, like the landlord bought paint on clearance. You could smell someone’s dinner burning through a cracked window, and the creak of the stairs reminded me of old horror movies.

In such a place, you can’t expect a proper layout or cross-ventilation.

"You work for a big cosmetics company, right? Didn’t think you’d be living in a place like this."

I asked as she unlocked the door.

Looking up at the room number—five rooms, and she lived in 404.

I tried to keep my voice gentle, but it came out a little too blunt. Old habits die hard.

"Good places cost a fortune. My folks are sick, and I’m covering their bills. This is all I can swing."

She smiled and opened the door.

It was the kind of smile you learn after years of holding back tears—meant to reassure, but just barely covering the cracks.

The lights weren’t on inside. Standing at the doorway, I saw a pair of eyes in the darkness, staring at us.

I narrowed my eyes and reached for my canvas bag.

Suddenly, there was a burst of barking.

The dog’s hackles rose, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Its eyes—one blue, one green—locked on me, unblinking. For a second, I wondered if it could see straight through skin and bone.

It was a gray-and-white shepherd dog with mismatched eyes, about knee-high, baring its teeth and sticking its rear out.

It looked fierce.

You can always tell when a dog’s not just a pet. I’ve seen my share of weird pets, but this one felt different. Like he’d been waiting for me—not Natalie.