Eli instinctively snatched the nearest thing that resembled a weapon—a pen—and grabbed it like his life depended on it. The plastic body bent slightly beneath the force of his grip, creaking in protest.
With his other hand, he shoved the picture frame under his bed, hiding it completely before pushing himself to stand.
His knees felt weak. His fingers were stiff. The pen trembled in his hand.
"Hello…?" he called out, only for his voice to crack embarrassingly.
He winced, face heating.
He cleared his throat and tried again, louder, firmer—
"Who's there?"
Silence.
Nothing but the low hum of the fridge and the muffled skyline noise bleeding through the windows far behind him.
The kitchen door remained dark.
Still.
Too still.
Eli swallowed, feeling his pulse stutter and trip over itself.
'It's probably Kairo… Caelen… or Mio… or Punzo… or literally ANYONE from those stupid guilds who think "privacy" is a fictional concept—'
CLANK.
