Chapter 2: The Burst Pipe and the Unseen Hand

The last box smelled faintly of stale coffee and old anxieties. Claire pushed it against the wall of her new apartment, a shoebox in the sky with a staggering view of a brick wall across the alley. This was it. Her new life. New York City. The self-created prison, as she'd privately named her old existence, was a thousand miles behind her. The freedom, however, felt less like soaring and more like teetering on a very high ledge.

Before Claire could even process what was happening, her apartment door, which she hadn't quite locked yet, burst open. Standing there, silhouetted against the dim hallway light, was a man who looked like he'd just wrestled a bear. Or, in this case, a burst pipe. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his t-shirt soaked through, and his eyes, dark and intense, flashed with raw frustration. He was broad-shouldered, radiating an energy that felt both dangerous and oddly… electric. He pointed a dripping finger at her ceiling.

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