Chapter 2 — Don’t Open The Door
813 Words
For one second, nobody moved.
Rain hit the windows softly behind Elena while Rex’s words stayed cold inside my ear.
Another team.
That wasn’t normal.
Jobs only became crowded when:
someone wanted insurance
someone didn’t trust the assassin
or someone wanted the target dead no matter what.
None of those possibilities were good.
“When did they arrive?” I asked quietly.
“Two minutes ago,” Rex replied. “Black SUV. Three men.”
Professional timing.
Professional problem.
I glanced toward the apartment door instinctively.
Elena noticed immediately.
Her grip tightened slightly around the knife.
“…What’s happening?”
Good question.
Unfortunately, the honest answer would ruin her life in under thirty seconds.
I ended the call.
Then looked back at her.
“You need to lock your bedroom door.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Now.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
“Okay, see, that sounds extremely concerning.”
Fair.
I moved toward the apartment entrance instead.
She followed me instantly.
“Wait—”
“Stay back.”
“You broke into my apartment and now you’re giving orders?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
Also fair.
I checked the hallway quietly through the side window beside the door.
Empty.
But footsteps echoed faintly from lower floors.
Steady. Controlled. Not hiding their movement.
Professionals.
Elena saw the change in my expression.
That was the first moment real fear touched her face.
Small. Quick.
But there.
“…Who are you?” she asked again.
This time quieter.
I looked toward her briefly.
Honestly?
I didn’t know how to answer that question anymore.
Then the building lights suddenly cut out.
Darkness swallowed the apartment instantly.
Elena inhaled sharply.
Outside, thunder rolled across the city.
And downstairs—
the footsteps stopped.
Silence.
The dangerous kind.
I pulled a handgun from beneath my coat smoothly.
Elena froze completely.
The knife in her hand suddenly looked very small.
“Okay,” she whispered slowly. “Now I’m panicking.”
Reasonable reaction.
I moved toward the kitchen window carefully.
Four floors up.
Not ideal.
But possible.
Behind me, Elena’s voice came quieter now.
“Are they here for me?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
That alone answered enough.
Her breathing changed slightly after that.
Fear finally becoming real.
Honestly?
Most people imagine bravery incorrectly.
They think brave people don’t get scared.
Wrong.
Brave people just keep moving while terrified.
And Elena Moreau—
despite clearly realizing something was horribly wrong—
was still thinking instead of breaking down.
That was impressive.
Then suddenly—
Three loud knocks hit the apartment door.
Not rushed. Not aggressive.
Controlled.
Professional.
Elena flinched slightly.
I raised a finger toward her immediately.
Quiet.
Another knock.
Then a calm male voice came through the hallway.
“Miss Moreau?”
No response.
“We need to ask you a few questions.”
Police tone.
Fake.
Real police announce themselves immediately. These men wanted the door opened voluntarily.
Elena looked toward me slowly.
Her face had gone pale now.
“Those aren’t police, are they?”
“No.”
Simple answer.
Honest answer.
Her breathing became sharper.
I moved toward her quickly before panic could fully settle in.
“Listen carefully.”
She looked at me immediately.
“When I tell you to move, you move.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be behind you.”
“Who are these people?”
I checked the door again.
“They’re the kind of people who make journalists disappear.”
Silence.
Then quietly—
“I knew the warehouse was bad.”
Warehouse.
Interesting.
I looked toward her.
“What warehouse?”
She hesitated briefly.
Wrong moment to hesitate.
“Last week,” she said quickly, “I followed one of the flour transport routes outside Prague.”
The footsteps outside shifted slightly.
Still waiting.
Listening.
Elena continued quietly.
“There were armed guards. Vans arriving at night. I took photos.”
Of course she did.
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t know.”
Bad answer.
Very bad answer.
Then suddenly—
A metallic sound clicked softly outside the apartment door.
My expression hardened instantly.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Bedroom. Now.”
The calm disappeared from my voice completely that time.
Which finally made her move without arguing.
Good.
She rushed toward the hallway while I positioned myself beside the entrance.
Then—
The lock began turning slowly from outside.
Professional override tool.
Fast.
Clean.
Not random criminals.
Someone funded this.
I exhaled once slowly and steadied my grip on the gun.
Honestly?
I should’ve left already.
That would’ve been smarter.
Cleaner.
Safer.
Instead—
I found myself listening to Elena’s footsteps disappearing toward the bedroom and realizing something deeply inconvenient.
I didn’t want her dying tonight.
The apartment lock clicked open softly.
Then the door began moving inward.
And the first man stepped inside.
- Writer
