一過凌晨十二點。
一聲輕柔、刻意，帶著理所當然的敲門聲響起。
克拉拉在椅子上僵住，書寫的筆停在半空。在發現那些事之後，不會有人來才對，至少今晚不會。
又過了幾秒，是第二次敲門聲。更大聲還帶點不耐煩。
她站起來，縮緊身軀不發出聲音，慢慢地穿過房間。公寓裡很安靜，靜到彷彿牆壁都在聽。她走到門口停住。從貓眼往外看。
走廊空無一人。
沒有腳步聲。沒有離去的影子。只有一盞即將熄滅的燈泡閃爍的光芒，以及那條狹長的走廊延伸到無盡的盡頭。
克拉拉皺起了眉頭。她確信她聽到的......
然後，第三次敲門聲響起。
不是敲門。
是牆壁。
Title: The Third Knock
The first knock came just after midnight.
Soft. Deliberate. Not the kind that asks for permission—more like the kind that assumes it already has it.
Clara froze in her chair, her pen hovering above the page. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. Not tonight. Not after what she had found.
The second knock followed a few seconds later. Louder this time. Impatient.
She stood, every movement measured, and crossed the room. The apartment was too quiet, as if even the walls were listening. When she reached the door, she didn’t open it. Instead, she leaned closer, her eye aligning with the peephole.
The hallway was empty.
No footsteps. No retreating shadow. Just the flicker of a dying bulb and the long, narrow corridor stretching into nothing.
Clara frowned. She knew what she had heard.
Then came the third knock.
Not on the door.
Behind her.
