You slipped off your damp coat and hung it by the door, shaking the droplets from your hair. The key turned in the lock with a familiar click, and you slid the bolt home out of habit.

The kitchen light flickered briefly before steadying into a warm, pale glow. You filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and reached for the coffee tin.

A low rumble of thunder rolled through the building. The rain picked up, rattling the glass like impatient fingers tapping at the window.

Then, the kettle whistled.

A sound from the hallway followed—soft, deliberate. Footsteps. Not your footsteps. Someone else's, nearing your door.

They stopped.

For a long moment, there was only the rain and the hiss of steam.

Then a knock—quiet, slow. Three taps.

You lived alone. No one had called ahead.

The kettle kept screaming, forgotten.