At 5:02 a.m., my reclusive neighbor hammered on my door and whispered, “Don’t go to work today—by noon, you’ll understand,” then vanished like he’d just broken every rule keeping me alive

Gabriel on my porch, breathing unevenly, and me standing behind a chained door in an oversized sweatshirt wondering whether my quiet neighbor had lost his mind.

“You’re scaring me,” I said.

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

The words landed with a force that drove every trace of sleep from my body.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Gabriel’s eyes shifted continue reading …