Inside, Mara stood barefoot on the cold floorboards, still holding the envelope she hadn't fully dared to open again. Her thumb traced the edge, soft and absentminded, but her gaze was locked on the door.
The knock hadn't been loud.It didn't need to be.
She knew that rhythm like she knew the shape of his hands.Three soft raps. Steady. Low. Him.
Her pulse tangled in her throat. The air in the room had changed the second she picked up that envelope — it had gone thinner, sharper, like the walls themselves were leaning in. Now it buzzed against her skin.
She should've ignored it.She should've pretended not to be home.
But when it was Elias on the other side of that door… pretending wasn't something she was ever good at.
She took a step forward, then another. The envelope stayed clutched against her chest like a shield she didn't believe in. The floor creaked beneath her toes. Every sound felt too loud.
She stopped just shy of the door. Close enough to feel the trace of his presence through the wood.
Mara didn't speak. Neither did he.But their silence knew how to hum.
She pressed her forehead lightly against the door, closing her eyes. For one second, the world narrowed to the warm, quiet pull of him. The storm outside. The heat that still lived on her skin from the night before. And the way fear and wanting tangled like smoke inside her.
Her hand hovered over the handle.Hesitation wasn't cold — it burned.
Elias, on the other side, tilted his head just enough to catch the faint sound of her breath. It wasn't steady. It matched his.
And then—The latch clicked.
The door eased open just enough to let the warm light from inside bleed into the hallway, catching his jaw, his mouth, the sharp lines of someone who was dangerous but already too far gone to walk away.
She stood in the doorway, hair loose, eyes dark and unsure.The envelope still held tight against her chest.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The air between them was everything they hadn't said.
The door opened only a fraction, like the night itself was holding it back. A golden line of light slipped across Elias's shoes, climbed his legs, caught the edge of his jaw. He stood still, not wanting to force it. Not wanting to scare whatever fragile thing was beating between them.
Mara didn't speak. She didn't have to.Her eyes told on her.
Wide. Alert. Still shining with something that wasn't quite fear but wasn't calm either. A storm in soft clothing.
Her hair had come loose — tangled in that careless, midnight way that made him want to touch it just to see if it was as soft as it looked. The hem of her shirt brushed the top of her thighs. Bare legs. Bare feet. A small detail, but it made the air between them thrum a little harder.
She gripped the envelope against her chest like it might anchor her to the floor. The paper had bent slightly at the corner where her thumb had pressed too hard.
"Elias," she whispered finally, like his name was something fragile in her mouth.
His breath hitched once — quiet, barely there. He'd imagined this doorway too many times in the quiet parts of the night. Not like this. Not with that shadow in her eyes. But still… her voice saying his name did something to him.
"I shouldn't be here," he murmured back. It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the truth either.
Mara tilted her head slightly, like she wanted to believe him and didn't. Her pulse fluttered visibly at the base of her throat. He could see it from where he stood — that small, frantic rhythm that matched the one pounding through his chest.
The hallway light above them flickered again.That faint buzz wrapped around them like a static thread.
She opened the door a little wider. Not all the way. Just enough that he could see into the room behind her — the spill of warm lamplight, the edge of her sofa, a mug still sitting half-empty on the table, her sweater thrown across the chair like she'd peeled it off in a hurry. It wasn't a grand invitation. It was more dangerous than that.
She was letting him in without saying the words.
His hand twitched at his side. A small, restless movement that betrayed more than he meant it to. Every instinct in him screamed to step forward. To close the space. To take her face in his hands and drown in that storm they'd left unfinished last night.
But beneath all of that… there was something sharper. Something wrong.
He scanned her face, every tiny shift. The way her shoulders curved inward. The way she held that envelope. The way her eyes flicked — not to him, but to something behind her for the briefest second.
"What happened?" His voice was low, rough around the edges.
She swallowed. Her lips parted like she might answer. But the sound caught somewhere in her chest.
Her hand was still on the doorknob. His was still in his pocket, clenched tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palm.
Between them was everything they hadn't said — and everything they couldn't.
"Come in," she whispered finally. Barely audible. But it reached him like a spark across a fuse.
He stepped forward once. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. Close enough to see the smudge of sleeplessness beneath her eyes. Close enough that the hallway air gave way to hers.
The door didn't shut yet.It just hung open behind him, like the night was still listening.
Elias didn't push. He just moved. One quiet step at a time. His shoes brushed the wooden floor, a soft scrape that somehow sounded louder than the city below. He crossed the threshold like someone entering a secret, not a home.
The air inside was warmer. Thicker. Her.
That scent—cinnamon soap, something faintly sweet underneath, a ghost of rain from the street—wrapped around him like a low hum in his chest. He didn't realize how tightly he'd been holding himself until the doorframe was behind him. It wasn't safety, exactly. It was something far more dangerous.
Mara backed up a step as he came in, not out of fear, but like she wasn't sure how close was too close anymore. The envelope was still in her hands, crumpling slightly against her chest. Her breath fogged the air between them, soft and uneven.
He let the door click shut behind him. Not loud—just a quiet seal. The sound of a world shrinking down to two people.
She was barefoot. He shouldn't have noticed that first, but he did. Bare feet against the cold wood, toes curled slightly like she needed grounding. It wasn't the kind of detail a man forgot.
Elias stopped a breath away from her.Close enough that the heat of her body reached him, brushed against the edges of his restraint.
His voice, when it came, was quiet. "Mara."
Her head tilted up, and for a second the weight in her eyes made the whole room feel like it was leaning toward him. She was holding herself together by threads—he could see it. The envelope was still pressed to her heart like a secret she didn't want to name.
"What happened?" he asked again, rougher this time.
Mara didn't answer right away. Her fingers trembled around the paper. He could see the edges now, bent and wet at the corner where the rain must've kissed it.
"It was under the mat," she finally breathed. "No name. No address. Just—" She stopped, swallowed hard, and looked up at him. "Someone knows."
Something inside him went cold.
He reached out before thinking. Not to take the envelope, not yet. Just to touch her wrist. Light. Barely there. A quiet anchor.
Her breath caught. But she didn't pull away.
The air between them pulsed. Want and fear. Warmth and danger. It sat thick in their lungs, impossible to separate.
Elias lowered his head slightly, his forehead almost brushing hers. Not a kiss. Just the kind of closeness that burned in silence.
"We'll figure it out," he said, though his chest already felt like a clenched fist.
Mara's lashes fluttered. She nodded, barely. The tremor in her breath gave her away.
He didn't look at the envelope again. He looked at her. Because the paper might hold the threat—but she was the reason it mattered.