39
The doorbell rang sharply through Toby’s apartment, cutting through the low hum of the TV in the living room. It was 5 p.m., the following day after the ambush, and Carlos and Toby had spent the better part of the day trying to figure out their next move. But the unexpected sound startled them both, their muscles tensing as they exchanged a glance.

Carlos grabbed the remote and shut off the TV, the room instantly plunging into an uneasy silence. "You expecting anyone?" he asked, his voice low, eyes wide.

Toby shook his head. "Not a soul, man."

They sat frozen for a beat, waiting, listening. The bell rang again. Louder this time, more insistent. A wave of panic swept through the room.

"Who could it be?" Carlos whispered, his voice barely audible, but edged with tension.

Toby shook his head. "I don’t know. And it's a rare thing for anyone to come here, without me inviting them over.."

As if on instinct, Toby then reached for the gun he had been keeping nearby since yesterday’s events.
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