Nikolai didn't like having a fixed place. It went against all of the instincts bred into him after over three decades of living like he did; a fixed place meant habits, meant predictability, meant vulnerabilities. He didn't like it, and he liked even less that if he made any enemies here, they would be able to find him-- and his roommate. That there was someone else who might be in danger because of who he was, what he was, and what he did and would keep doing.

That was why he always came to the apartment at night. It was a good place to store his things, that was all. And he mastered the skill of turning the key in the lock in silence long ago.

When he came in that night, he could feel someone was in the room he placed his things (not his room). And Nikolai shifted his wrist, sliding one knife out of his sleeve, and he had it aimed forward even as he pressed the light switch.

It wasn't that he didn't expect to see the girl. But he raised his eyebrow nonetheless, cocking his head to the side.

"What are you doing here?"