Chapter 3
Erica opened the door and immediately wished she hadn’t. Not because of who was standing there—at least, not at first—but because she’d hesitated before opening it at all.
The knock hadn’t been wrong exactly, just unfamiliar. It was neither the quick, polite tap of a delivery nor the hollow thud of a neighbor ready to complain. It had been deliberate and measured, as if whoever stood on the other side knew she would answer and was willing to wait.
The man in the hallway was . . . a lot. He was large and broad in a way that suggested softness rather than strength.
His weight strained the seams of an oversized blazer that looked borrowed from another decade or another body entirely.
Beneath it, he wore a faded graphic tee from an obscure rock band Erica couldn’t place.
It was the kind of shirt that suggested deep, unnecessary knowledge.
He wore dress pants with tennis shoes, laced carefully, as though effort alone could make them look formal.
A duffel bag hung at his side, his fingers curled tight around the strap.
His hair fell thick and dark to his earlobes, parted neatly down the middle.
Heavy-framed glasses sat low on his nose, magnifying eyes that were fixed on her with unsettling patience.
He didn’t fidget or shift his weight. He just waited. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Erica became acutely aware of her own posture—one hand still on the door, body angled away from the strange man, already preparing to retreat. She had the irrational urge to close it again. Not slam it. Just reset and pretend this moment hadn’t happened.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The man smiled. It was careful and measured. “Erica,” he said.
Her stomach tightened. She didn’t like that he knew her name.
“Yes?”
“I’m Elias.” His voice was calm, almost gentle. “The medium you hired.”
She blinked once, then again, waiting for the sentence to rearrange itself into something sensible.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re the what?”
“Medium.”
Behind her, the condo breathed. Laughter floated from the dining room, then the scrape of silverware and someone calling her name in celebration. Her birthday, her carefully planned evening, was unfolding on schedule. Or was it?
“You have the wrong condo,” she said. “I didn’t hire you.”
Footsteps approached before she could close the door.
“I did,” Zach said, appearing over her shoulder, wearing the unmistakable expression of someone very proud of himself. He smiled, nervous but hopeful. “Surprise.”
She turned slowly. “You hired a medium?”
“Yes.”
“For my birthday.”
“Yes.”
She looked back at Elias. He hadn’t moved, not even an inch. He wore a neutral expression that felt practiced, like he’d learned it somewhere unpleasant.
“Why would you hire a medium, Zach?” she asked, pressing her lips together.
“Well,” he said, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret. “You’re always saying how you wish you could talk to your sister again.”
The words didn’t hurt. They didn’t stab or burn or twist. They landed heavier than they should have, a fist closing around a memory she hadn’t been thinking about a second ago. Erica felt her breath stall.
“I don’t believe in that kind of thing,” she said too quickly. “You know that.”
She glanced at Elias because politeness demanded it. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he said. “Belief isn’t a requirement for what I do.”
That didn’t make her feel better.
Zach smiled wider. “It’s your birthday. And even if you don’t believe, what’s the harm?”
Elias’s eyes flicked to Zach, then back to Erica.
“I mean,” Zach added, “what’s the worst that could happen?”
Something in the way Elias reacted made Erica’s stomach dip.
It was a microreaction, a movement that wasn’t there, an opening and closing of the lips you’d need a high-speed camera to catch.
He had an answer, but he didn’t want to share it.
They held each other’s gaze for a moment too long. The hallway felt narrower.
From inside the condo, the party waited. Erica thought of planning, of control, and of how deeply she hated surprises. She knew Zach had meant well, even though this dose of chaos made her uncomfortable.
“That was . . . thoughtful,” she said, surprising herself.
Zach beamed.
Erica exhaled, coming to terms with the situation, already rearranging the night in her head. “Fine,” she said, turning back to Elias. “Come in. We’re just finishing dinner.”
“Please, take your time,” Elias said, dipping his head. “Rushing never helps.”
She stepped aside, beckoning him in with a flick of her head. “You can wait in the living room.”
As he crossed the threshold, the duffel bag brushed the doorframe. When he passed by her, she caught a faint scent—something earthy and old, like damp soil or the inside of a box that hadn’t been opened in years.
Elias paused in the living room, surveying the place.
Everything about the condo was deliberate.
Every piece was chosen to look like it belonged.
A low sectional in pale fabric, carefully arranged pillows, a sculptural coffee table with stacked art books no one ever opened.
Beyond it, through the swinging door, the dining room glowed with candlelight.
“Lovely space,” he said. “Very intentional.”
Erica stiffened.
Zach hovered nearby, grinning like a kid who’d pulled off a trick. “Isn’t it?”
Elias nodded. “You can feel when a room has been prepared.”
Prepared for what? Erica didn’t ask.
“I’ll need a little time to set up,” Elias said.
He set his duffel bag down on the rug but didn’t open it.
Erica lingered, her hand still half raised, like she might yet usher him back out into the hallway and shut the door on the whole thing. But he was already inside her home now. He was a guest, and guests came with rules—her rules.
“We’ll finish up,” she said, the words automatic. “Can I get you anything?”
Elias considered her for a moment. His gaze was steady but unreadable.
“Wine,” he said. “It helps take the edge off.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Zach was already retreating toward the dining room, glancing back with a relieved, hopeful smile—like he’d pulled off something meaningful instead of disruptive. Erica followed, smoothing her expression before rejoining the table.
As she walked away, she felt it—that faint, prickling awareness between her shoulders, the unmistakable sense of being watched. She didn’t turn around.
Behind them, in the styled stillness of the living room, Elias remained exactly where she’d left him, duffel bag at his feet, perfectly content to wait. And he did.