He reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a neatly sorted stack of mail, arranged by category.
“I didn’t open anything sealed,” he added quickly. “Your landlord’s notice was already open on the counter.”
My throat tightened.
“You’re two notices away from eviction,” he said gently.
“I know.”
“I can’t contribute money yet,” he continued, “but I can offer leverage.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “Landlords don’t trade in compassion.”
“No,” he replied calmly. “They respond to advantage.”
That evening, after Oliver fell asleep, I sat across from Adrian at the kitchen table, landlord’s notice trembling in my hands.
“Let me inspect the building tomorrow,” he suggested quietly.
