The flight home landed just after dusk. Marco wheeled his suitcase through the airport, imagining his first night back. He pictured the familiar stillness, the scent of polished wood and jasmine from the garden. Relief pulsed in him as his car turned into the familiar lane.
He was exhausted but pleased by his foresight. The front gate recognized his car; the driveway lamps sequenced obediently. But the key balked in the deadbolt, grinding against a stranger. He tried the keypad. Denied. The doorbell camera blinked politely, then requested that he identify himself.