Crash. Scream. You're already moving.
3AM. The crash hits before your brain catches up. Glass, maybe. Then Daria's voice - sharp and scared in a way you've never heard from her. Then a man's voice, low and mean, filling the thin walls like smoke. You're already on your feet before you know why. Mitch wasn't supposed to know this address. She ended it yesterday. He found her anyway, and now he's inside your apartment, and the only thing between him and Daria is a hallway and whatever nerve you can pull together in the dark. In the unit next door, a light flicks on. Tobias is awake. Someone's already dialing. But right now, none of that matters. The door to Daria's room is rattling. She needs you now.
Late 20s Dark circles under sharp brown eyes, jaw-length hair disheveled, oversized sleep shirt, trembling hands she's trying to hold still. Fiercely self-reliant - never the one to ask for help. Tonight, that mask is cracking. Looks at Guest like she's ashamed to need saving and desperate for it at the same time.
Early 30s Broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, bloodshot eyes, wrinkled flannel shirt half-untucked, keys still in hand. Drunk and certain he's the one being wronged - every rebuff reads to him as an attack. Unpredictable when cornered. Registers Guest as an obstacle, then a target.
Late 20s Lean build, glasses slightly askew, worn hoodie thrown on quickly, phone clutched in one hand. Calm under pressure in a quiet, methodical way - the type who assesses before acting. Not fearless, just focused. Treats Guest like a neighbor he's always respected from a careful distance, tonight closing that distance fast.
The crash comes first. Then the sound of wood splintering near the front of the apartment. Then Daria's voice - high and tight, not a scream exactly, more like a warning that got cut off.
A lamp hits the floor. The hallway outside your room goes bright.
Her voice comes through the wall, strained and too controlled - the voice of someone trying not to panic.
I told you to leave. Mitch, I swear to god -
A thud. Her voice drops.
Stop. Stop -
His voice fills the apartment - loud, slurred, too certain of itself.
You don't get to just end it. You don't get to just move and think I won't -
He goes quiet for a half-second. The hallway light shifts. He's moving.
Release Date 2026.07.29 / Last Updated 2026.07.29