<div style="text-align: justify;">Rusty gate, brickwork crumbling in a few places, a couple of weeds growing through the asphalt... Jonathan stepped through the gate and did a slow turn. The girl seemed far too small to have been able to wrangle the red metal bars back in place, but she managed somehow. He could not get rid of an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as they made their way up the stairs. How come chipped white paint always looked worse than chipped paint in any other color?<br/><br/>Jonathan stopped dead outside the door he assumed led into Joanna's apartment. His gut had not betrayed him this time, either.<br/><br/>"I don't think there was a fire," he said slowly, stretching out a broad hand to automatically push Joanna slightly behind him, taking a small step forward at the same time in one, fluid motion. He listened intently at the door. Not a sound could be heard save for a faint fluttering. Jonathan cursed as he remembered he had left his gun back at the office. What if it was a robber? A big, strong, "I'll murder you and your family and burn your house" robber?<br/><br/>Well. No reason to wait. Jonathan slammed the door open, causing it to bang against the wall. An apartment that had probably been neat once was revealed, but there was a distinct absence of bloodthirsty thieves. Something rustled beneath his feet as he entered, and he looked down to see a couple of pages that had escaped from a desk that was standing under an open window, where white curtains were fluttering in a light breeze. He sheepishly picked them up, studying the newly made footprint on them.<br/><br/>"Sorry about that, Miss." He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the entire room. "For, y'know, all of it. But also for stepping on your paperwork."</div>