By the time I reached the front of my apartment building, I was practically jogging. I climbed the stairs two at a time, taking them like they'd done something personal to me. My pulse thudded in my ears, matching the echo of my own footsteps on the stairwell.
When I got to the landing, I finally glanced back through the railings.
Malcolm was there — keeping his distance like I told him to. Exactly twenty steps. His hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders loose like this was just another stroll. Like this didn't matter. But I could tell by the way his eyes didn't leave me — not once — that he was taking it seriously. In his own, maddening, Malcolm way.
I turned back around, swallowing thickly as I reached for my keys.
The hallway was silent. Dim. The overhead light flickered once like a warning.
My fingers fumbled against the keyring. Shit. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
