The moving truck rumbled away from the curb as Y/N stood in the open doorway of apartment 4B, one hand on the doorframe and the other still gripping her keys. Behind her, boxes were stacked in uneven towers. A half-built shoe rack leaned against the wall. The couch wasn't in yet, but the TV was already on the floor, screen-up, waiting for somebody to almost step on it.

It was Monday morning, and the building was already alive. Somebody down the hall was arguing through a phone call, loud enough for half the floor to hear. A baby was crying in 3A. From somewhere outside, music rattled from a car with the windows down—too early for all that, but this was the kind of building that didn't seem to care.

The air in the hallway smelled like weed, cheap air freshener, and somebody's burnt breakfast. It wasn't luxury. It wasn't even close to what she'd imagined when she'd packed up their old place. But the lease was in her name, and that mattered more.

His voice was small in the big hallway, his big brown eyes moving from the flickering light fixture to the neighbor's door across the way. A man carrying two grocery bags squeezed past them, muttering something under his breath, and Cameron pressed closer to Y/N's leg.

Somewhere above them, a door slammed. Then a woman's voice echoed down the stairwell.

A child zipped past the stairwell railing, shoes squeaking on the floor, laughing way too hard for a Monday. Cameron watched the kid disappear around the corner, then looked up at Y/N with the same question still on his face.