The handle stopped moving, but the footsteps stayed.
I sat up slowly, my heart thudding so loud I was sure they could hear it. "Lukas?" I whispered. No answer.
Then, a soft knock. Too soft. Careful.
I slid off the bed, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. "Who is it?" I asked, my voice shaky.
A man's voice—low, accented—spoke through the door. "Ava, right? I need to speak with you."
My skin went cold. I didn't know this voice.
"I think you have the wrong room," I said, stepping back.
He chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "No. This is the right one."
I reached for my phone, my hands clumsy, but before I could call Lukas, the man spoke again—closer this time. "You're not safe here. He can't protect you forever."
I froze.
The door handle turned again—this time harder, rattling in place.
Then, just as suddenly, heavy footsteps approached from the hall.
"Step away from the door," Lukas's voice ordered, low but sharp.
I obeyed instantly.
There was a brief, tense silence, then the sound of two men speaking in German—quick, angry. I didn't understand the words, but I understood the tone. A threat had just been made.
Something hit the wall. The man's voice rose once before fading down the hall.
Then the knock came again—but it was Lukas now.
I opened the door. His shirt was wrinkled, his jaw tight, his eyes darker than I'd ever seen them.
"From now on," he said, his voice like steel, "you never open that door unless it's me."
I swallowed hard. "Who was that?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. "Pack a bag. We're leaving."