Chapter 6: The Note
1478 Words
By noon, the rain had eased into a drizzle, thin streaks sliding lazily down the windows. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and soap from the groceries Ethan had unpacked, an ordinary domestic scent that clashed with the heaviness in Maya’s chest.
She told herself to move — to do something. Anything.
Her suitcase still sat half-open at the foot of the guest bed, clothes spilling out in messy layers. She dropped onto the floor, tugging out shirts, folding them into neat stacks, trying to force order into the chaos. If she focused hard enough on the corners lining up, maybe her hands would stop trembling.
Somewhere in the kitchen, Ethan moved around with quiet efficiency — the scrape of a chair, the clink of dishes in the sink. He wasn’t hovering exactly, but he hadn’t gone far since the visitor. His presence threaded through the apartment like a steady hum, a constant reminder she wasn’t alone.
Her phone buzzed where it lay on the nightstand. A text from Luke lit up the screen: Everything okay? How’s Hale treating you?
Maya smirked at the nickname, a faint laugh catching in her throat. She typed back quickly: Fine. Apartment’s… different. He’s the same.
She hovered, tempted to mention the strange knock at the door, but stopped. Luke would freak, and then Ethan would know she’d told him, and the whole thing would explode into a mess she didn’t have the energy for. She slipped the phone aside and got up, smoothing her hands over her shorts.
The kitchen was bright with gray daylight when she wandered in. Ethan was at the counter, sleeves pushed up, towel slung over one shoulder as he scrubbed out a pan. He glanced up immediately, his eyes sharp but softening when they landed on her.
“Done hiding?” he asked, voice even but carrying that subtle undercurrent of concern.
“I wasn’t hiding,” she said quickly, though the defensive bite in her tone gave her away. She grabbed a glass of water just to keep her hands busy.
“Right,” he said, letting it go but watching her a moment longer, as though reading the truth off her skin. Then he added, quieter, “You don’t have to act like nothing happened, Maya.”
She lifted the glass, drinking instead of answering. The water was cold, but her throat still burned.
It was all too much — the stranger at the door, Ethan’s nearness, the way both danger and comfort seemed to live under this roof with her.
After rinsing her glass, Maya drifted back toward the guest room, restless. The folded stacks of clothes on the bed waited for her, half-done. She crouched again, tugging at her jacket to shove it into the closet, when something crinkled.
She paused.
Sliding her hand into the pocket, her fingers brushed paper — not the receipt she expected, but a small folded square, neatly creased. Her stomach tightened instantly. She hadn’t put anything there.
With slow, careful hands, she opened it.
The handwriting was blocky, uneven, pressed so hard into the paper it nearly tore.
Stay away from him. This is your only warning.
Her pulse roared in her ears. The words stared back at her, heavy, ugly, too deliberate. Her knees bent until she was sitting on the floor, the note trembling between her fingers.
It wasn’t random.
It wasn’t a coincidence.
Someone knew she was here. Someone knew about Ethan. And they didn’t want her close to him.
The air in the room felt thinner suddenly, every shadow sharpening, every creak of the building louder. She glanced toward the door, half expecting the hooded man to be standing there, watching her. But the hallway was empty.
Her fingers curled tight around the note, crumpling the edge. She thought of shoving it deep into the trash, pretending she hadn’t seen it. Pretending she could still believe she was safe.
But her chest ached with the weight of it. She couldn’t pretend. Not with this.
Not when it was written to her.
Maya sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the note. Her thumb rubbed over the jagged indentations in the paper, as if the pressure of the handwriting might reveal something more — a face, a reason, anything.
She could hide it. Pretend she hadn’t seen it. But the words wouldn’t leave her, echoing with every heartbeat. Stay away from him. The way they were written, it wasn’t advice. It was a threat.
Her chest tightened. Ethan deserved to know.
Pushing to her feet, she smoothed the crumpled edges flat and carried it into the kitchen.
Ethan was at the stove, stirring something in a pan. He looked over when she appeared, eyebrows lifting at the expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”
Her throat felt dry. Without speaking, she held the note out to him.
He frowned, wiping his hands on a towel before taking it. His eyes scanned the words once, twice, then his entire body went still.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint sizzle of whatever he was cooking. Then he set the note down on the counter with deliberate care.
“Where did you find this?” His voice was low, hard-edged.
“In my jacket,” she said, her voice unsteady but steady enough. “It wasn’t there before.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re sure?”
“I don’t—” she caught herself, forcing the words out. “I don’t make a habit of carrying around creepy anonymous threats, Ethan.”
That cracked through his control. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Maya. This isn’t a joke. Somebody’s targeting you.”
Her pulse stung at his intensity. “I know that. I found it, remember?”
“I should’ve never let you stay here without—” He broke off, muttering under his breath. His frustration wasn’t at her, but at himself, and that almost stung worse.
She crossed her arms, defensive. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I’m some fragile glass you have to lock away. I can handle myself.”
His eyes snapped back to hers, sharp. “No. Not when someone is leaving warnings in your clothes. Not when—” He cut himself off, jaw flexing.
The silence hung heavy.
Her heart pounded, torn between the heat of his protectiveness and the frustration of his control.
Finally, softer, he said, “I’m not trying to cage you, Maya. I just… I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.”
The words landed between them, heavy, dangerously close to something more.
Maya’s breath caught at his words, the way they’d slipped out raw, unpolished. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.
She blinked, unsure how to respond, her pulse fluttering in her throat.
Ethan broke eye contact first, dragging a hand down his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come down on you like that. I just—” He stopped, shaking his head, as if the rest of the sentence would cost too much to say.
Her arms loosened from where they’d been crossed. She set the note on the counter between them, the ugly words stark against the pale surface. “Then what do we do?” she asked quietly.
He leaned forward, both hands braced on the counter, shoulders tense. “I’ll handle it.”
She hated the answer — hated the way it made her feel both relieved and shut out. “You keep saying that. But what if whoever’s doing this doesn’t want you involved? What if it’s me they’re after?”
His head lifted sharply, his gaze locking onto hers. “Then they’ll have to go through me first.”
The intensity in his eyes made her chest tighten, heat rising to her cheeks. For a moment, the kitchen felt smaller, the distance between them shrinking without either of them moving.
She swallowed, her voice quieter now. “You can’t protect me from everything.”
His hand lifted, almost without thought, brushing against her arm. The touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver racing through her skin. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers lingered just long enough to make her breath hitch.
“I can try,” he murmured.
Her lips parted, but no words came. The air was thick, charged, the kind of silence that vibrated with all the things neither of them could say.
On the counter, the note lay between them, a sharp reminder that they weren’t alone in this. But in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them — too close, too dangerous, too much.
- Writer
