The apartment hallway was still just as silent.
The ceiling light still flickered gently, as if unsure whether it wanted to die.
The two women stood in front of the same door—still locked in eye contact.
Then, the older woman finally spoke.
Her voice was soft, polite, but with a clear tremble at the edge.
"E… excuse me. Did you know my son?"
The younger woman nodded slightly, and her expression shifted.
It was nervous and anxious before.
But now—her heartbeat started to go out of rhythm.
Nathan… he's her son?
The young woman opened her mouth, her voice small but honest.
"Y-yeah… I know him."
"Is he… in trouble?"
The question came out quickly, like a breath that had been held too long.
The young woman paused for a moment, then answered carefully.
"I… I'm not sure. But… he hasn't shown up to work for a few weeks now…"
The older woman frowned.
"Is he sick?"
The young woman shook her head. Then nodded. Then shook her head again.
