The knock echoed, a sharp, decisive rap that sliced through the charged silence of the apartment. Sol's vigilant eyes locked onto Neoma's. A silent question passed between them, a shared understanding of the precariousness of their situation. They hadn't been expecting anyone. Not here. Not now.
Her breath hitched, a small, involuntary sound lost in the stillness. Caution and alert, cold and sharp, pricked at her skin. "Who...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Sol didn't answer. He couldn't. His gaze, unwavering, held hers for a heartbeat longer, a silent promise of protection. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he turned away. His hand, steady despite the tremor that ran beneath his skin, moved to the small of his back, drawing the gun concealed there. The metal, cold and
