Hawk had to squeeze a bit to get off the bus through the regular door. The bus pulled away as he stood at the stop, staring blankly up before shouldering his bag and continuing on.

The neighborhood he'd been dropped off in was quiet and mostly dark. It was strangely composed of a few houses squeezed in between small shuttered commercial buildings, a used car lot, and--directly in front of Hawk at the bus stop--a tall, windowless storage facility.

The house Hawk approached had barely a foot between it and the storage facility; it was a two-story affair with walls that could have been white and a roof that could have been orange or red, but it was hard to tell in the dusk. While the other houses around it were completely dark, this one had a few lights on in the windows and on the porch, and its metal grate outer front door was wide open.

Hawk walked up the steps to the wide porch, checking the papers he'd been given again to make sure he had the right place. He didn't knock, but instead reached up above the front door, finding a small key sitting on the door frame. With it, he opened the door, peering cautiously in--the foyer was dimly lit and quiet. There was some mail on the floor beneath the slot, a jacket on one of the wall hooks, and some shoes tucked under a slim table to one side, but otherwise there was no sign of life.