She hadn't expected to feel anything when she stepped into the narrow hallway of the studio apartment. She told herself it was just another place to see. Just another cracked tile floor, another window too close to the building next door. But the second she walked in, something in her shoulders loosened.
It was small, but it was clean. The walls were white, freshly painted, not that sickly yellow she'd started to associate with worn-out tenants and worn-down lives. The kitchen was a compact little galley with cabinets that didn't hang off their hinges, and the window above the sink looked out onto a crooked alley and a patch of sky between buildings.
