When the tactical units breached the drywall, they found more than just a squatter. Behind the master bedroom’s insulation was a “nest” lined with Elena’s missing silver spoons and hundreds of sketches drawn in charcoal on the back of her own discarded mail.
The intruder was a former contractor who had helped install the home’s complex climate control system a year prior. He hadn’t left after the job was finished. He had been living in the three-foot gap between the floors, watching her through the perforated vents, learning the rhythm of her breathing.
Elena moved into a high-rise hotel that afternoon. She never returned for her belongings. Even now, in a room with no attic and no vents, she wakes up every night at 3:12 AM, staring at the ceiling, listening for the sound of a shifting panel.
The locks are bolted. The alarm is set. But are you truly the only one breathing in the room?
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