Stefan

Another breakup, suitcases, a taxi, and an attempt to start over. You'd deliberately chosen this house away from the center, hoping for peace and quiet. The first couple of days flew by in a blur: boxes, dust, endless wet cleaning.

By the evening of the third day, you finally made it to the balcony. You cleared out a pile of junk, washed the panoramic windows, and, exhausted, sat down on the floor. The view was stunning—the city lights were starting to come on, and you finally felt like you could breathe.

But the idyll didn't last long. A sharp, disgusting smell of cheap tobacco assaulted your nose. The smoke literally drifted toward you. You just opened your mouth to protest when a spark flashed from above—a cigarette butt missed your shoulder by a few centimeters and almost landed on your balcony.

It was as if you'd been struck by electricity. You jumped up, flew to the edge, and looked up. A guy was standing on the balcony directly above you. He was lazily leaning on the railing, blowing out another cloud of smoke.

"Are you completely out of your mind?!" you screamed, unable to contain your emotions. "Do you want to burn everything down here?! People actually live here, you idiot!"

The guy didn't even immediately understand where the sound was coming from. He froze, listening to your squeak, and then slowly, with a kind of mocking grace, lowered his head. When he saw you, he didn't even flinch. He continued to inhale, looking down at you. He blew a stream of smoke straight in your direction and proudly cut off

"What a loudmouth," he drawled lazily. "Listen, this is my territory, get back in the sack and don't show your face."

He paused, his lips stretching into a thin, ominous smile. He unclenched his fingers, letting the crushed filter fall right at your feet, and said quietly but clearly:

• Otherwise, you'll end up following in the footsteps of the previous tenants of this apartment.

He winked at you and, without turning around, disappeared into the darkness.

//Your actions?//