Apartment 308 Novels & Stories

The white apartment door before us bore the number 12054, which, once translated, indicated our location: the 120th floor, apartment 54. As Alex and I stepped out from the capsule taxi to the balcony, it seamlessly closed its door behind us and departed, leaving us at the threshold of our new dwelling. The door to our apartment swung open in response to the proximity of our smartwatches. The apartment, though modest in size, was efficiently laid out, encompassing a living area, kitchen, a queen size bed, and a bathroom all within 30 to 40 square meters (around 400 square feet). It was a compact space.

He cleared his throat and said, “If you girls are having trouble, I’d only be happy to help. I know a good apartment that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.” He was lying. This particular one he was thinking of did cost an arm and a leg. It belonged to his cousin Sam Harrington. The place, however, hadn’t been occupied in three years, so he figured it should be all right. Hence, he continued, “It’s a great apartment. Eighth floor. Nice view of the beach and the city.”

“Didn’t Christopher give you the address?” “He gave me the keys, but not the floor number.” Silence. Then Eleanor sighed. “Hold on, let me call him.” I waited, shifting my suitcase from one hand to the other. A few minutes later, she called back. “It’s Apartment 808, Building B,” she said. “And don’t worry about Christopher. He’s just… difficult.” I laughed softly. “I figured that much out already.” She chuckled. “Give him time, dear. One day, he’ll regret underestimating you.”

The safehouse was a third-floor apartment in the eighth district — Józsefváros, where the streets were wide and nineteenth century and the neighborhood was composed of enough layers of history to absorb new presences without registering them. The building's front door required a physical key. The apartment door required two — the second hidden. There was no elevator. The stairwell smelled of plaster dust and old cooking, which was a smell Dante had come to associate with functional anonymity.

she said. “And the moment anything feels wrong — anything at all — you leave immediately, non-negotiable.” “Non-negotiable,” she agreed. “I’ll set up the recording equipment,” he said. “And then you’re going to tell me everything you know about Lila’s apartment layout.” ----- Lila’s apartment was on the fourteenth floor of a building in the east seventies — all polished stone and understand wealth. The doorman recognized Sloane immediately. “Mrs. Blackwell,” he said with a smile.

All the windows in the third block were dark except for the windows of Lindy and Sonnet’s units. Meanwhile, the third block was a stark contrast from the other blocks. Most of the windows in the other blocks were brightly lit! “What’s going on? Why is nobody living in the third block? Octo Apartments is the best apartment complex in the entire residential area. The third block is the central block as well. It’s the best among the best. Why is no one living here?!” Lindy was shocked. She seemed to think of something. She held onto Sonnet’s arm and asked, “Can there be a story to our block?”

“Selma, I'd like to see apartment 3oo6.” “Luna, that one is taken.” She said, going on her computer and fingers clacking the keyboard. “We do have apartment 14o8 that is available.” She flicked her gaze to Eddison, looking him over and then back at me. “Privacy is assured for you and your gentleman friend.” I snorted at the innuendo. “My interest is in 3oo6. Please hand me the keys.”

Chapter 3 LYKA'S POV There I was, wandering the streets again. I approached an elderly woman sweeping the sidewalk. “Excuse me Miss, do you know any apartments for rent here?” “Why, miss? Are you looking for one?” Of course I am. Why else would I be asking? “Yes,” I answered politely. “There’s one right behind you. Small room’s three thousand, a bigger one is four-five. One month deposit.” “Are you the owner?” “No, my son is.”

Not anymore. I picked up my phone and looked at the text again. 392 West 88th Street, Apartment 4C. Tomorrow, 10 AM. Maybe it was a scam. Maybe it was too good to be true. But right now, it was the only lead I had. And I was going to take it.

This was where Elena had been living. Julian noticed his expression. “Let’s go.” They walked toward the entrance together while Marcus and the rest of the security team remained outside. Inside, the building smelled faintly of detergent and old paint. The hallway was narrow, the lighting soft but dim. Marcus spoke quietly. “Third floor.” They took the stairs. Each step echoed softly. Alexander’s chest felt tight the higher they climbed. Third floor. Marcus stopped in front of a door. Apartment 3B. He stepped aside.