Baelgor prowled the small house Cisco had loaned him, his sharp eyes roaming over every corner as though the wooden walls might suddenly sprout fangs. The space smelled faintly of dust and cooking oil, a strange mix that made his nostrils flare. He crouched to peer beneath a low table, then straightened, shoulders brushing the ceiling.
Too quiet, he thought, tail flicking once, twice.
A sudden rap—rap—rap shattered the stillness. The sound was sharp, quick, and unrelenting, like a heartbeat against the wood. Baelgor's head snapped toward the door. The knocking did not pause.
His muscles tensed. An enemy? Already? The rhythm of the tapping quickened, steady and taunting. Whoever it was had no sense of fear.
A slow grin curled across his face. "So… you come to me," he murmured.
