We’re getting ready for bed when it happens, the room finally settling into that quiet, end of day rhythm where muscles loosen and thoughts slow, where Atticus is brushing his teeth in the ensuite and Axel is tugging his shirt over his head while I sit on the edge of the bed twisting my hair up, already thinking about sleep. It feels earned, that tired heaviness, and I let myself believe for just a second that the night might pass without demanding anything else from us.
The pounding on the door shatters that illusion.
It’s loud and frantic and wrong, the kind of knock that carries panic instead of courtesy, and all three of us freeze at the same time before Axel is moving, crossing the room in two strides and yanking the door open.
The guard on the other side looks pale and shaken, bre
