The deadbolt on his front door clicked into place by itself. From the hallway, he heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of a mail carrier’s boots—not the light step of a human, but something heavy, dragging a bag that sounded like it was filled with wet gravel.
His breath hitched. He opened the letter dated tomorrow. It was addressed to his own apartment. The text was just a list of three numbers: a latitude, a longitude, and a time—3:14 AM. He looked at his clock. It was 3:00 AM. The terminal chirped. PostD2.part1.rar
"Archive corrupted," the error message read. "Part 2 required." The deadbolt on his front door clicked into place by itself