The building sat in the middle of the capital, close enough to CGI headquarters that the walk wouldn't be inconvenient. The woman drove us there in silence, showed us the floors with quick, efficient gestures, and left.
Mine was on the second floor. Sherry's on the fourth. One apartment per floor, connected by stairs, no elevator, either a deliberate design choice or an oversight nobody had bothered to fix.
I stepped into my apartment and stopped just inside the door. A bedroom. A living room with two couches. A television mounted on the wall larger than anything I had seen in twenty years on the plain. A refrigerator humming quietly in the corner. I stood there for a long moment, boots planted on clean flooring, and just looked at all of it.
This is mine, I thought. A room with a lock. A refrigerator. Nobody trying to kill me.
The plain version of me found that funny. The inside version was still getting used to it.
