Predictable.

And then a man upstairs decided to find out exactly how much “reasonable” I would tolerate.

His name was Daniel Hartley.

He moved into apartment 4B fourteen months earlier.

At first, he seemed perfectly pleasant.

!

About forty.

Friendly enough.

The kind of man who carried groceries in reusable bags and filled his apartment with houseplants before he had even finished unpacking.

When we first met, I gave him a card with the building manager’s number, emergency maintenance details, recycling schedule, and quiet-hour rules.

He thanked me sincerely.

I remember thinking:

Good.

This one will be easy.

The tea bags started during his second month.

The first one appeared on my balcony one wet November morning.

Used.

Still damp.

Breakfast tea.

I assumed it was an accident.

Wind.

Carelessness.

Something tossed without thinking.

I picked it up and threw it away.

Then another appeared.

And another.

By December, there had