Another kick. Louder this time.
The door shudders beneath the impact, and just like that, the illusion of safety splinters.
He’s here.
He’s really here.
Without hesitation, I bolt, stumbling over my own feet in my panic. Down the hallway, carrier bag swinging, feet thudding against the floor like thunder. My breath’s ragged, frantic. All I can think isweapon. I need something I can actually use. Something I won’t hesitate with.
The rolling pin.
It’s solid and familiar, and it might not much, but it’s mine. And right now, it’s all I’ve got.
The second I cross into the familiarity of Cameron’s house, I break for my room—no hesitation. Just motion. As soon as I barge through the doorway, I shoot straight to the fuse box in the hallway, flick the master switch, and plunge the house into darkness. A heartbeat later, I’m gliding into my room, low and silent, every step calculated.
The rolling pin is right where I left it—perched like a waiting weapon atop my bag. My fingers close around it, and just like that, I’m armed.
I don’t want to go back down there.
Not really.
My stomach’s twisted, and fear is gnawing at my ruffled edges like moths on silk.
But I’ve got no choice.
Whatever’s waiting in the dark—whatever mess I’ve invited into this place—I’m the one who has to face it.
My grip tightens around the handle, knuckles pale. I’m ready. Or, at least, I have to be. I slip back down to the kitchen in darkness, keeping my back flat to the wall, arm tensed and ready to spring when I need to.
Their voices echo louder somewhere deeper in the tunnel now. They’re closing in. Which means I’ve got maybe seconds to prepare.
I press myself into the nearest patch of shadow, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth. I edge backward, trying to melt further into the wall—until I hit something solid. Warm.
Shit.
A sharp jolt of panic slices through me—freezing my breath, locking every muscle in place like a trap. My heartbeat stutters, blood roaring in my ears.
Then a hand finds my jaw.
A slow and intentional touch that stops me from spiralling. Not rough, but deliberate—fingertips anchoring me with quiet control.Hiscontrol.
Cameron.
And then his scent hits me. That signature mix of cedar and spice—impossible to mistake. And in this moment, despite every nerve screaming at me to run, my body remembers one thing—in this house, with him?
I’m protected.
He pulls me back into a deeper cut of darkness, one arm across my body like a steel bar, the other already pulling the dart gun from his shoulder.
He presses a finger to his lips through the darkness, eyes locked on mine—steady, composed and utterly dangerous.
And just like that, the panic fades.
Now it’s just the hunt.
Cameron moves like smoke—silent, efficient, a reaper in the dark.
I, on the other hand, trip over the first damn step.
