The smell of burning fills my nose. Not just wood. Not just oil. Something else. Chemical. Sharp.

I feel it. The trap. Closing. Slowly.

A cat falls from a balcony above. Or was it a shell? A bombardment? I don't know. It hits the ground and runs. Not hurt. Just scared.

In the distance — a stall. Books. Old things. Antiques. Glass and paper and dust. Strange. In the middle of chaos.

People run past me. Toward something. Away from something. I don't know what.

"What's happening?" I mutter.

No one answers.

I stand still. Not running. Not hiding. Just watching.

"That's what he would do."

I almost laugh.

"That strange type in my head really rubbed off on me. Ha. I don't even know what kind of person I was before he moved in. My weird neighbor. The one who shared my body."

I pause.

"Funny. But I don't want to die. I remember he always joked about death. Said you have to survive first."

The crosshair is still on me. I can feel it.