The Art of the Trip

For the next week, the hallway of the fourth floor became a Cold War zone.

Wei "The Silencer" Liu began a campaign of surveillance and appeasement. If the woman in 4B was indeed The Widow, he needed her as an ally, or at least a neutral party.

He started small.

On Tuesday, Chloe opened her door to find a steamer basket of har gow dumplings sitting on her mat.

On Wednesday, it was a roast duck hanging from her doorknob.

On Thursday, she found Wei waiting in the hallway when she emerged to retrieve her Uber Eats order.

"The duck was acceptable?" Wei asked, leaning against his doorframe, arms crossed. He was wearing a turtleneck that accentuated his deltoids.

Chloe blinked, clutching her bag of McDonald's. "It was free. Free is my favorite flavor. Thanks, neighbor."

"I noticed you utilize a fascinating caloric intake strategy," Wei observed. "High sodium. Quick energy. Good for burst combat."

"Good for naps," Chloe corrected.

She turned to unlock her door.

At that moment, the stairwell door burst open.

A man in a leather jacket stormed onto the landing. He held a switchblade. He was a low-level runner for the Ghost Face Gang, sent to sniff out Wei’s safehouse.

Wei tensed, his body dropping into a combat stance. He prepared to intercept.

The thug lunged, aiming to shove past Chloe to get to Wei.

"Move, bitch!" the thug shouted.

He stepped on the trailing edge of Chloe’s oversized, fuzzy pajama pant.

Chloe sighed. She didn't scream. She didn't run. She simply shifted her weight to her other foot because she was tired of standing, and lazily kicked her slipper off because her foot was getting hot.

The motion was fluid. Unintentional.

Her slipper slid across the linoleum. The thug, mid-lunge, stepped on the slick faux-fur. His traction vanished. His legs went out from under him. He flailed, his head cracking against the bannister with a sickening *thud*. He tumbled down the stairs, unconscious before he hit the third-floor landing.

Silence stretched in the hallway.

Wei stared at the empty stairwell. Then he stared at Chloe.

* Economy of motion,* Wei thought, awe-struck. *She didn't even drop her McDonald's. She used a low-friction projectile to neutralize a hostile target without raising her heart rate.*

Chloe looked at her bare foot. "Great. Now I have to go downstairs to get my slipper."

She looked at Wei. "Can you get it? You're already wearing shoes."

Wei nodded slowly. "Your technique is... flawless. Minimalist."

"It's a slipper, dude. Not a weapon."

"Anything is a weapon in the right hands," Wei said reverently. He walked down the stairs, retrieved the fluffy pink slipper, and returned it to her like a knight presenting a sword.

"We need to talk," Wei said. "My employer would like to meet you."

"Does he have food?" Chloe asked.

"The best in the city."

"Fine. But I'm not wearing heels."