Ethan stood outside Chris's old apartment with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders drawn in against the cold more out of habit than necessity. He'd been there long enough that the street noises had blurred into a background hum with cars passing, someone laughing too loudly somewhere down the block, and a door slamming a few buildings over.
The apartment block didn't look like much from the outside.
That was the worst part.
The door had been locked again, properly this time, but Ethan knew better than to trust appearances. He'd already been inside. He'd seen the drawers left open in the wrong order, the couch cushions cut instead of tossed, and the books disturbed just enough to tell him someone had been looking through them.
This hadn't been a robbery, but something more complicated.
Ethan exhaled and rubbed a hand over his face.
