The Riddle of 3B

The cat appeared at precisely 3 AM, as it had every night since Maya moved into the building. Orange tabby, one ear notched from some street fight, pressing its flank against the glass of the fire escape door like it wanted in, or perhaps wanted her out. Maya didn't let it in. She had enough to feed without another mouth, even a small one that purred like a tiny engine of need.

The water stains on the ceiling had bloomed into new shapes since the last rain—Rorschach tests she failed every morning while waiting for the coffee to brew. Maya had called the super three times. He'd come eventually, paint over the rot with something thick and white, pretend the problem was solved. Men were like that. They liked surface fixes. They liked solutions that fit in a paint can.

The cable had been cut on Tuesday. She'd come home to find a notice taped to her door: PAST DUE. Now she sat on the sofa at 2 AM, watching static snow fill the screen in undulating waves, because the silence was worse. The silence made her hear things she didn't want to hear. Like the truth.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

LinkedIn: David commented on your post: "Great update!"

LinkedIn: Sarah viewed your profile.

LinkedIn: Your application for Senior Copywriter at Vertex Media was viewed by the hiring manager.

She picked up the phone and deleted the apps, one by one. The severance had run out last month. The savings were gone. The unemployment benefits were a joke, and Marcus had taken the cat—the expensive one, the Maine Coon with the papers—when he moved in with his assistant. The assistant who was now pregnant. The assistant who was twenty-four.

Maya stood on the fire escape, nursing the cigarette she'd sworn she'd quit. The orange tabby watched her from the neighboring railing, tail twitching with something that looked almost like judgment.

"You got the answer?" Maya asked, smoke unfurling from her lips. "Is that what you are? Some kind of sphinx?

The cat blinked slowly, inscrutable as ever. It turned and leaped gracefully to the next building, disappearing into the urban labyrinth without a backward glance.

Of course it wouldn't answer. Sphinxes never did. They just watched from their perches, stone-eyed and patient, while you tore yourself apart trying to solve riddles that had no solutions. The trick wasn't solving anything. The trick was leaving the temple behind.

Maya flicked the cigarette butt into the alley below, watching it spark and die. She went inside, packed her bags, and left the key on the counter. The water stains could have the apartment. The super could paint over everything, over and over, until the whole building was white and clean and empty.

She didn't know where she was going. But for the first time in months, she was moving.