The night feels wrong before I even hear the knock.
It’s not loud,just two precise taps on the wood of my apartment door, as though whoever stands there already knows I’ll answer. The kind of knock that doesn’t ask permission. The kind that assumes ownership.
I sit frozen on the couch, the remnants of dinner still cold on the table, the silence of the room pressing against my ears. My heart hammers. Valen hasn’t come tonight,he said he’d be late, buried in meetings. So who could it be?
A third knock comes, softer, and with it, the chill of dread slides down my spine.
I rise slowly, each step heavier than the last, and open the door only halfway.
Two men stand there. Not Valen’s soldiers,not the rough, inked-up types who guard him with fire in their eyes. These are different,Sleek,Clea
