The knock didn't come again.
Sarah's breath hitched. Her bare feet stayed frozen on the wood floor, the broken mug shards like tiny glass warnings around her.
Ace moved first.
He crossed to the light switch and killed it. Darkness swallowed the room, except for the firelight flickering across his face, painting him in flame and shadow. The pistol vanished into his hand like it belonged there.
"Get away from the windows," he ordered.
Sarah backed toward the staircase. Her heart pounded against her ribs like it wanted to escape. "Should we call the police?"
Ace didn't even dignify that with a response.
Instead, he stalked to the front door and stood with his ear close—not touching it, just listening. The kind of stillness that only someone dangerous could master.
Sarah swallowed hard. "Ace…"
He turned his head slightly. "Whoever it is, they're not just watching anymore."
Her voice trembled. "What do they want?"
His answer was a whisper. "You."
The fire cracked violently behind them as if reacting to the words.
Then he looked at her—really looked at her—and for a moment, the cold mask slipped.
"You should've told me," he said. "I would've come for you."
She shook her head. "You would've gotten yourself killed."
A sound outside.
Scraping.
Slow. Deliberate. Metal on stone.
Sarah flinched. Ace stepped back from the door and moved toward her.
"If I tell you the truth," she said, "you'll hate me."
"I already hate myself," he murmured. "That's worse."
A sudden crash.
The power died.
Everything plunged into darkness.
Except for the two of them—alone now, not just with each other, but with something neither of them fully understood… or could run from.