PREVIEW
... eps out first. I follow, hands in my pockets, my footsteps slowing as the corridor stretches before us—narrow, warm-lit by warm yellow lights. Faintly smelling of detergent and old paint. It feels... lived in. Honest.
We stop in front of his apartment.
Deniz suddenly looks nervous.
He pats his pockets once. Twice. His movements are stiff, slightly rushed—like he’s afraid the keys might vanish if he hesitates too long.
Before he finds them, an old woman walks past ...
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