For a long, suffocating moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the hallway was the distant, muffled bass of a neighbor's music, completely at odds with the tension practically vibrating off of her.
Then, without a word, Sophie stepped aside.
Stan crossed the threshold, stepping into the sanctuary of her apartment. She closed the door behind him. The decisive, heavy click of the deadbolt lingered in the silence for a heartbeat, sealing them in. She didn't look at him right away. Instead, she turned and walked slowly toward the center of the living room, coming to a halt with her back to him, her posture rigid.
He waited. He knew better than to rush this.
She remained perfectly still, a silhouette against the soft, neon-purple glow spilling from her streaming room down the hall. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its usual vibrant, on-camera energy. It was reduced to a fragile, tightly controlled whisper.
"I heard you in my head."
"Yes."
