CRAVES

THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR

The knock came again. Three measured taps. Not impatient. Not hesitant. Almost... practiced.

Amelia looked toward the door, then back at Bryan. He hadn't moved. Only his eyes had. The softness that had settled over them during breakfast disappeared so quietly she almost wondered if she'd imagined it in the first place.

He set the spoon down. Untouched porridge cooled inside the bowl.

Another knock. Slightly louder this time.

"I'll get it." She rose from the chair.

Bryan stood at the same moment. The movement was almost instinctive. His body reacted before his mind seemed to. For the briefest second... he positioned himself between Amelia and the front door. She noticed. So did he. His brows drew together almost imperceptibly. Then he stepped aside.

"...Sorry." The word came quietly. As though he wasn't used to saying it.

Amelia smiled. "It's okay." She crossed the small apartment. The old wooden floor creaked beneath every step. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob. She opened it only halfway.

An elderly woman stood in the hallway, balancing a woven basket against her hip. Mrs. Alvarez. Apartment 3B. Her silver curls escaped from beneath a knitted cap despite her obvious efforts to keep them in place. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted from the basket.

"Oh, there you are." Her smile deepened the wrinkles around her eyes. "I baked too much again." She lifted the basket. "You'll help me finish it."

Amelia laughed. "You say that every Wednesday."

"And every Wednesday you pretend not to know I'm lying."

She accepted the warm loaf with both hands. "Thank you."

Mrs. Alvarez's eyes wandered past Amelia's shoulder. The smile paused.

"Oh."

A beat of silence.

"You have company."

Amelia glanced back. Bryan remained where he was. Straight-backed. Still. His expression gave nothing away.

The old woman looked between them. One eyebrow rose. "I didn't know you were seeing someone."

Heat rushed into Amelia's cheeks. "No!" She laughed a little too quickly. "It's not like that."

Mrs. Alvarez hummed. The kind of hum that clearly meant she wasn't convinced.

Before Amelia could explain... Bryan spoke. "I apologize for the misunderstanding."

Mrs. Alvarez blinked. His voice was effortlessly calm. Deep enough to settle the air around it.

"I've inconvenienced Miss Hart."

The old woman tilted her head. "You know her last name."

"I asked."

Amelia looked at him. He hadn't.

Mrs. Alvarez smiled knowingly. "Well." She patted Amelia's arm. "I won't interrupt." She leaned in just enough for only Amelia to hear. "He's very handsome."

Amelia closed her eyes for half a second. "Mrs. Alvarez..."

"What?"

"I'm old, not blind."

The older woman chuckled to herself before disappearing down the hallway.

The apartment door clicked shut. Silence returned.

Amelia rested her forehead lightly against the wood. "I'll never hear the end of that."

When she turned around... Bryan had already picked up the empty bowls.

She stared. "What are you doing?"

He looked genuinely puzzled. "The dishes."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

He carried them to the sink. His movements were strangely precise. Every plate placed carefully. Every cup rinsed before being washed. Not a single unnecessary motion.

Amelia leaned against the kitchen doorway. "You've done this before."

"I've watched people do it."

She laughed. "That's not the same thing."

"...Apparently not."

The faucet hissed softly. Water ran over porcelain. Bryan frowned at the sponge in his hand. He turned it over once. Twice. As though trying to solve a puzzle.

Amelia bit the inside of her cheek. "What?"

He held it up. "Which side?"

She blinked. "...You're serious?"

He nodded once.

She couldn't stop herself. A laugh escaped before she could swallow it. Not loud. Not mocking. Warm. The kind that filled the tiny apartment.

Bryan looked at her. Then at the sponge. Then back at her. The corner of his mouth lifted. Only slightly. Gone almost as soon as it appeared.

Amelia stopped laughing. "...Did you just smile?"

He returned his attention to the sink. "I don't believe so."

"You did."

Silence.

"I definitely saw it."

The dishes suddenly seemed very interesting to him.

Amelia smiled to herself. Maybe Mrs. Alvarez was right. He was handsome. But there was something unexpectedly... awkward about him. Like someone learning ordinary life one moment at a time.

She walked over. Took the sponge from his hand. "This side washes." She turned it over. "This side scrubs."

Bryan watched carefully. As though the lesson mattered.

"You've never washed a plate before?"

"No."

She looked at him. "...Ever?"

"No."

The answer came without embarrassment. Simply the truth. She wondered what kind of life a person had to live to reach adulthood without ever washing a single dish. Rich family? Boarding school? Private chefs? Nothing seemed to fit.

The silence stretched comfortably between them. Outside, the rain had finally stopped. A shaft of pale morning light slipped through the clouds and landed across the kitchen floor.

Bryan's gaze drifted toward the window. Something changed. So slight Amelia almost missed it. His shoulders stiffened. Not from pain. Awareness. Like someone had noticed him.

Far below... across the street... a black sedan rolled to a stop. Its engine remained running. Two men stepped out. Both dressed in dark suits. Neither looked toward the apartment. Yet Bryan knew. They were here. For him.

Bryan remained by the sink. The glass in his hand reflected the morning light. Across the street, one of the men adjusted the cuff of his suit before glancing briefly toward the apartment building. Only once. That was enough. They had found him.

Amelia finished drying the last plate and returned it to the cupboard. "You really don't have to keep helping."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"It doesn't change the answer."

She laughed under her breath. The apartment had begun to warm with the smell of fresh bread. She tore the loaf Mrs. Alvarez had brought into two uneven pieces and placed one on a small plate.

Bryan watched the steam rise from it. "You should eat."

He looked at the bread. Then at her. "You've already fed me."

"So?"

"You don't have much."

The words were quiet. Matter-of-fact.

Amelia paused. "You noticed."

His eyes drifted around the apartment once more. The patched curtain. The carefully stitched cushion on the sofa. The shoes by the entrance, polished despite their age. Nothing had escaped him.

"I notice everything."

She smiled faintly. "That sounds exhausting."

A knock echoed somewhere downstairs. Voices followed. Muffled. A child laughed. A bicycle bell rang outside before fading into the distance. Life continued exactly as it always had. Yet something invisible had settled over the apartment.

Bryan felt it. Time. Running out.

He crossed toward the bedroom. His coat lay folded neatly across the chair. Someone had washed away most of the blood during the night.

Amelia stood in the doorway. "I couldn't fix the tear."

"You weren't supposed to."

"I know." She hesitated. "I just..." Her fingers brushed the fabric. "It looked expensive."

Bryan lifted the coat. His thumb traced the silver crest stitched inside the collar. The threads had darkened with age. Older than the country outside these walls. He slipped the coat over his shoulders. The movement pulled at the wound beneath the bandages. Pain flared. Gone almost instantly.

Amelia noticed the brief tightening of his jaw. "You shouldn't be standing."

"I've rested enough."

"You've barely rested."

"I'm alive."

She frowned. "That's not the same thing."

The words lingered between them. Bryan looked at her. Most people accepted simple answers. She questioned them. Not out of suspicion. Out of concern. It was... unusual.

Wind pushed the curtains inward. The basil leaves on the windowsill shook. Bryan turned toward the open window. A scent drifted in. Leather. Rain. Engine oil. The men had entered the building. His hearing caught the elevator doors opening. Footsteps. Measured. Steady. Four floors. No. Three. Stopping. The staircase. They were taking the stairs.

He closed the window quietly.

Amelia noticed. "Cold?"

"No."

Another lie. She was beginning to suspect he had many.

The footsteps reached the second floor. Bryan stood perfectly still. His gaze fixed on the apartment door. Every sound sharpened. Every heartbeat inside the building separated itself from the next. An elderly woman watering flowers. A man coughing behind a closed door. Someone speaking on the phone in the parking lot. And two hearts. Climbing. Closer.

The third floor.

Amelia picked up the empty tea cups. "I'll wash these."

Bryan's voice stopped her. "Leave them."

She looked over her shoulder. "What?"

The footsteps stopped outside. Three quiet knocks. Exactly like before. Not hurried. Not loud. Certain.

Amelia frowned. "Mrs. Alvarez forgot something?"

Bryan said nothing. She walked toward the entrance. Each step felt strangely louder than the last. Her fingers wrapped around the handle.

Bryan's voice reached her. Calm. Low. "Do not open the door."

She looked back. Something in his expression had changed. Not fear. Calculation.

The silence stretched. Another knock. This one softer. Almost respectful.

Amelia swallowed. "Do you know them?"

A pause. "...Yes."

"They're your family?"

"No."

"Friends?"

"No."

She searched his face. The answer she wanted wasn't there. Only certainty.

"They're looking for me."

The words settled heavily inside the apartment. Amelia looked at the door again. Then back at Bryan.

Outside... one of the men spoke for the first time. His voice carried easily through the wood.

"Your Grace."

The apartment fell completely still.

Amelia stared at Bryan. Then at the door. The unfamiliar title echoed in her mind. _Your Grace_. She almost smiled. It sounded absurd. As though the men outside had mistaken apartments for palaces.

Bryan didn't smile. His gaze never left the entrance.

Another measured knock followed. No urgency. No impatience. Only confidence.

"They know you're here," Amelia whispered.

"Yes."

"Then why don't you answer?"

Silence. His eyes shifted toward the window. A second black sedan rolled quietly to the curb. Three more men stepped out. None carried umbrellas. Rain landed on their dark coats without drawing so much as a glance from them. They crossed the street together.

Bryan closed his eyes briefly. Too many. Far too many.

Outside, the voice returned. "Your Grace." A respectful pause. "We know you're awake."

Amelia looked from Bryan to the door again. "They're worried about you."

"No." The answer came immediately. "They're here because they were ordered to be."

She frowned. "That sounds lonely."

For the first time... Bryan looked at her. Really looked. The words hadn't been meant as pity. Only observation. Yet something in them settled heavily inside him.

Another knock.

"Please allow us to escort you home."

Bryan finally moved. He crossed the room with slow, unhurried steps. Not toward the door. Toward Amelia. She instinctively stepped aside. Instead... he reached past her. Turned the lock. Then rested one hand against the wood without opening it.

The hallway outside fell silent.

"They'll leave."

One of the men answered almost immediately. "We cannot."

Bryan's voice remained level. "You've confirmed that I'm alive."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"You've confirmed that I'm capable of standing."

"...Yes."

"Then you've completed your assignment."

Silence. Long enough for Amelia to wonder whether they had actually gone. Then...

"Our orders remain unchanged."

Bryan lowered his head slightly. As though he'd expected that answer. His fingers left the door. He walked back toward the kitchen.

Amelia watched him. "You aren't opening it?"

"No."

"They'll just..." She glanced toward the entrance. "...stand there?"

"Yes."

She blinked. "How long?"

"As long as necessary."

"Hours?"

"If required."

"...Days?"

"If required."

Her eyebrows climbed. "They're stubborn."

Bryan poured himself a glass of water. "They're loyal."

The distinction mattered. She could hear it.

The apartment grew quiet again. Outside... no footsteps. No whispers. No movement. Just six men standing beyond a thin wooden door. Waiting.

Amelia walked cautiously to the peephole. She looked through it. Two men stood directly outside. Perfect posture. Hands folded in front of them. Neither spoke. Neither glanced at the other. Further down the corridor, another waited beside the stairwell.

She stepped back. "They really aren't leaving."

"No."

She rubbed the back of her neck. "Who are you?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Bryan remained facing the window. Morning sunlight finally broke through the clouds. It reached the apartment. Stopped at his shoes. Never touched his face.

"I've been called many things."

She waited. He offered nothing more.

A sigh escaped her. "You're impossible."

A faint breeze stirred the curtains. The room fell silent once again. Minutes passed. The bread cooled on the table. The tea lost its warmth. Neither of them noticed.

Amelia wandered toward the bookshelf. She pulled out a worn novel. The spine had split years ago. She settled onto the sofa. "If they're going to stay..." She opened the book. "...I'm not spending the whole day staring at the door."

Bryan watched her from across the room. She read quietly. Occasionally turning a page. Occasionally tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Completely unbothered by the strangers waiting outside.

An unfamiliar feeling settled over him. Normal. The room felt... normal. No marble halls. No endless meetings. No servants. No council. Only a small apartment. A girl reading a book. Fresh bread on the table. And rain drying on the windows. He couldn't remember the last time silence had sounded like this. Not empty. Peaceful.

His gaze drifted toward the bookshelf. Rows of novels. Some old. Some new. Several had folded corners marking favorite pages. One title caught his attention. He stepped closer.

Amelia looked up briefly. "You can borrow one."

"I don't read fiction."

She smiled. "That's because you've never read the right one."

He studied the shelf. "There are over a hundred."

"Exactly." Her smile widened. "One of them is bound to change your mind."

For reasons he couldn't explain... the corner of Bryan's mouth lifted again. This time... the smile lingered. Only for a heartbeat. But long enough for Amelia to see it.

She didn't mention it. She simply lowered her eyes back to her book. Some things... she decided... didn't need words.