Chapter 69 Morgan
Morgan
The knock echoed in the silence, low and deliberate.
Ruby clutched my arm so hard her nails dug through the fabric of my sleeve. “Don’t answer it,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I won’t,” I promised, though my pulse was wild enough to make my hands shake.
I edged toward the peephole, every step careful, my body angled to keep Ruby behind me. My breath fogged the metal when I leaned close. Nothing but darkness. Whoever was out there knew how to stand just beyond sight.
Another knock. Slower this time. Heavier.
“Damian said not to open the door for anyone but him,” Ruby reminded me, her voice higher now, like she was trying to anchor herself to the rules.
She was right. He’d been clear. But the sound crawled under my skin, coiling in my stomach. Whoever was out there wanted us to know they weren’t in a hurry.
I forced myself back from the door, pressing Ruby toward the hall. “Bedroom. Now. Lock it.”
Her eyes went wide. “What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I said, pushing a steadiness into my tone that I didn’t feel. “Go.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat too long, then bolted down the hall. The slam of her bedroom door made me flinch, but at least I knew she was safe.
The knock came again, this time followed by a voice—low, male, calm in a way that made my blood run cold.
“Morgan.”
He knew my name.
I backed toward the kitchen, my fingers fumbling for the drawer where Damian had left a spare pistol. My hands weren’t as sure as his, but I’d trained enough with him to know how to hold it, how to breathe.
“Morgan,” the voice repeated, closer now, right against the wood. “You’ve been busy.”
My grip tightened around the weapon, the weight both terrifying and strangely grounding.
“Say something,” I whispered to myself, desperate to sound braver than I felt. But I didn’t. I kept my lips sealed, heart pounding, praying the locks would hold until Damian came back.
Because whoever was on the other side of that door wasn’t here to knock twice.