The First Attack
566 Words
The safe house felt too quiet. Like the air itself was holding its breath. Elara perched on the couch edge, arms wrapped around a pillow tight enough to dent the fabric. Silence always messed with her head. Made her ears buzz like bad speakers. Made her imagine shapes moving just beyond the doorframe.
Adrian hadn't budged from his spot by the window in hours. His broad shoulders stayed locked in that same tense line under his shirt. Eyes scanning through slatted blinds like they could peel back the darkness outside.
"You ever get tired," she asked finally. Voice barely carrying across the room.
His head didn't turn. "Tired gets people killed."
She looked down at her pale fingers digging into the cushion seams. Felt every shaky breath rattle through her ribs while he stood there solid as concrete. Unbreakable where she kept cracking apart.
Still though. Having him there made the fear manageable somehow.
Night crawled by slow as cold syrup. Every floorboard creak jolted her upright. Every wind gust against the roof tiles sounded like bootsteps overhead.
Finally curled under scratchy wool blankets around midnight, she tried again softer. "Adrian. You think they're coming back."
"Count on it." His voice stayed flat as pavement.
Her throat tightened around the next words before they slipped out anyway.
"How can you be so..."
Metal screeched against metal out in the hallway.
Elara's lungs froze mid-breath.
Adrian's hand snapped up in warning before she could gasp.
The doorknob twisted with rusty squeals that made her teeth ache.
He moved before she could blink—wooden chair wedged under the handle soundlessly.
Her fingers clawed into blanket wool until her knuckles burned white.
When deadbolts snapped open like gunshots behind them both men came crashing through sideways.
Elara's scream got trapped somewhere behind clenched teeth.
Adrian moved like he'd been spring-loaded his whole life waiting for this moment.
First guy caught an elbow to the throat mid-lunge.
Second one barely cleared the doorway before Adrian had him twisted backward over one knee blade skittering across floorboards.
Elara pressed so hard into couch cushions she felt springs digging through fabric.
Adrian fought like some coiled machine—all precise angles and calculated force.
No wasted motion when he body-checked number one into drywall hard enough to c***k plaster.
No hesitation slamming number two's head against doorjamb till his grip went slack.
When they finally scrambled out bleeding and cursing Adrian stood framed in shattered doorway breathing hard through flared nostrils.
Quiet rushed back in louder than before.
Elara sat shaking so bad her knees knocked together under blankets wet with nervous sweat.
He turned slowly chest still heaving and dropped to crouch eye-level with her white-knuckled grip on couch cushions still locked tight.
"You hurt."
She shook her head fast enough to blur vision tears spilling hot down cold cheeks anyway.
His calloused palm settled on her shoulder feather-light like handling glassware in earthquake country.
"Still safe," he ground out voice rough as gravel roads.
Dawn found them still there hours later—Elara curled sideways on lumpy cushions trying not to stare at Adrian's silhouette blocking what little light crept through blinds now cracked open slightly wider than before.
"You're not weak," his voice startled her from half-sleep rasp low enough it might've been the wind if she didn't know better.
"Just haven't found what makes you dangerous yet."
- Writer
