[exclusive]: Waste Pickup

He opened it.

“Payment,” it said.

The Collector stood in the hallway, a silhouette against the pre-dawn grey. It was humanoid but wrong—too tall, limbs slightly too long, wearing a patchwork coat made of what looked like tarps and mirrors. Its face was a smooth, featureless oval, but Leo had learned to read its mood by the way light slid across its surface. Right now, the light was flat. Impatient.

The Collector turned to leave, then paused at the threshold. “The guitar is getting heavier.”

“Standard,” Leo said. He always said standard.