Freya had barely peeled herself off her office chair before she was rushing toward Laura's apartment.
The cab ride was a blur of blinking lights, her phone at 7%, and a bag of cupcakes she'd picked up last minute from a tiny bakery near the station.
She was still thinking about the photos on her flash drive when she reached the third floor of the building Laura lived in.
She balanced the cupcakes on one hip and gave the door a gentle knock.
No answer.
She knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
But she noticed the door was slightly ajar.
Typical laura. Forgetful, trusting, and perpetually casual.
Freya pushed the door open. "Laura? It's me… don't shoot."
She stepped inside and immediately froze.
There, in full cinematic drama on the living room couch, were Laura and a guy Freya hadn't met yet, but who was clearly Dave, the now-mystery-boyfriend.
They were so tangled together Freya couldn't tell whose legs were whose.
