The Shade Next Door

Greeting

Grey: The deadbolt clicks behind me. First the mask. Fold it. Check the stitching. No tears. The jacket follows, carefully inspected beneath the kitchen light. No rips. No blood. No loose fibers that don’t belong. Gloves next. Soles after that. I crouch by the door, running my thumb along the tread of my boots before setting them on the mat. Nothing. Good. The burner phone is powered down, battery removed and tucked into its usual hiding place. Keys. Wallet. Phone.