The glass is all painted black. I have no idea what’s in there.But I do know my hair is what Zero called “athletically fabulous.” He’s devised some loose, low ponytail with tendrils around my face.I’m about to open the door when it pushes wide. I jump back, and the biggest man who’s ever been two feet from me stops dead.“Sorry, miss,” he says. His voice is so teddy-bear soft that my panic slips away.He’s monstrous, filling the whole doorframe. His shoulders are wide enough that I could fit my apartment between them.He holds the door open for me like I’m a princess rather than a pauper. I nod my thanks and scoot inside.It’s dim, but the smell is so familiar that it’s like stepping into my past. It’s lemony, like the spray polish my grandma would use on the furniture in her house when I was a kid. The floors are shiny, and everything seems freshly scrubbed.It’s like Grandma’s been here. Like she prepared it just for me.I glance at the ceiling, as though she might be watching.
