ULRIC KNIGHT
The knock comes again, harder, jarring the house like a stone into still water. It wakes the animal in me before reason has even a chance to stand up. I hear Aelia inhale against my ribs—sharp, small, like the sound of a match flame being struck—and I know every line of her is already braced for bad news. I do not waste a second. I do not wait to let politeness draw out the second it costs someone a life.
"Stay," I tell her without turning. My voice is a taut wire. Her hand tightens in mine; she doesn't step away. Good. When the world collapses, I want her in the wreckage with me.
The third knock slams the wood again and this time I do not bother with the chain. I fling the door open.
