The twentieth floor—the top of their unit.
When they arrived, they found the safety door locked from the inside, solid and unyielding.
Mrs. Warren felt a chill crawl up her spine, memories of what had happened at Suzy's door flashing through her mind.
Still, she forced herself forward and knocked.
"Open up! We're here to collect supplies!" she called out bluntly.
Silence.
No movement. No response.
She remembered that a young man lived on this floor—he had renovated his apartment not long ago.
Back then, she had complained to property management more than once about the noise.
The young man had handled it well, even sending over small gifts to smooth things over. After that, she had let it go.
"He's not home?" she muttered.
She knocked again.
Still nothing.
Thinking back, she realized she had barely seen him around lately—not even during water collection.
"Probably not here," she concluded, shaking her head. "Let's go back down."
