“I think I’m losing my mind, Pat,” Yelena said the next day in the laundry room, attempting a laugh. She tried to make it sound like a joke, the kind you tell when you want someone to laugh and call you paranoid. “My food keeps vanishing at night.”
Pat paused, feeding quarters into the washing machine. “Probably mice, dear. They can get into anything.” Then she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s that old space. My landlord mentioned it when I moved in—there’s some ancient maintenance space that runs under a few of our units, original to the building. Sealed off decades ago, supposedly.”
“A maintenance space? Under my floor?” Yelena asked, her chest tightening. Pat shrugged, tossing towels into the dryer. “That’s what they say, but who knows with these old buildings? They’re older than both of us combined.” Yelena forced a nod and let the conversation drift away, but the casual detail planted itself firmly in her mind, waiting to be unlocked.