The door at the top was plain wood. She threw her shoulder into it, stumbled through, and collapsed onto carpet.
The air hit her; cold, clean, moving. She sucked it in until her lungs ached.
Sunlight poured through a window at the end of the hallway. She blinked, raised a hand against it. Too bright. It burned. Outside, birds called to each other.
She pushed herself up. Her legs shook. Her knees threatened to fold.
A suburban home. Carpeted hallway. Family photos in matching frames; a woman smiling, two children, a golden retriever. A coat rack with a jacket hanging from it.
Everything in its place. Normal. A life, lived.
She knew this house. Not the address; but a file she'd read. A person of interest in a cold case. A dead end she'd closed and shelved. He'd been right here, living above the basement, while she'd been looking in the wrong city.
The front door. She limped toward it, one hand against the wall for balance. The lock was a simple deadbolt. She turned it. Pulled.
The door swung open. Sunlight washed over her, warm and blinding. A quiet street. Trees. A sprinkler hissing on a lawn.
She stepped out. The door clicked shut behind her.