She was restless because of him.
Which was why, when the faint click sounded at her door, she thought at first it was her imagination. A pipe. A neighbour. Anything but what it truly was.
The lock turned.
The door eased open.
Her blood iced. She snatched up her phone, heart hammering, and stepped into the hall, just in time to see a tall shadow slip through the door and close it soundlessly behind him.
The museum man.
For a heartbeat, she was frozen, disbelief locking her in place. Then he stepped into the light and she saw him fully, hood pushed back, dark hair damp from mist, eyes locked on hers with the same intensity she remembered.
Her breath caught, her pulse went wild.
He lifted his hands slightly, palms out, voice low and rough. “Quiet. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering against the floorboards. She spun for the door, panic fuelling her steps, but he was faster. His hand caught her wrist, his other braced firm against her shoulder.
“No,” she gasped, twisting hard, kicking, fighting like instinct demanded. She aimed for his ribs, felt him jerk back, but he didn’t let go. His grip was iron, his body heat flooding through her, his breath ragged against her hair.
“Let me go!” The words ripped from her throat, high and sharp.
“I can’t.” His voice cracked with urgency, the sound not cruel but desperate. “If I do, they’ll take you instead. I won’t let that happen.”
Her mind reeled. They? None of this made sense. She shoved against him, chest heaving, but the look in his eyes stopped her cold. Not malice. Not lust. Something darker, heavier. Fear.
A noise outside shattered the moment, the roar of an engine pulling up, too close, too deliberate.
The stranger swore under his breath. In one motion, he pulled a canister from his pocket, pressed it to her smoke alarm, setting it off with a shrill beep. The lights died as he threw the breaker, plunging them into darkness.
“Trust me,” he rasped, dragging her toward the back door.
“I don’t even know you!” Her voice cracked, half fury, half terror.
“I know. But you will.”
She stumbled barefoot into the stairwell, the cold linoleum biting her feet, her hand trapped in his. She tried to wrench free, nails biting into his arm, but he hauled her forward with relentless strength. The air filled with shouts, men’s voices, deep and harsh, boots pounding the stairs below. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
They burst into the alley, the damp air thick with rot and diesel. A figure blocked the far end, tall and solid. She barely had time to cry out before the man shoved her behind him, taking the first blow himself. The crack of a fist against flesh echoed, her captor staggering but answering with brutal precision, an elbow to the throat, a fist to the gut, efficient and terrifying.
Clara pressed herself against the wall, trembling, breath tearing through her lungs.
Then his hand was on her again, dragging her upward, forcing her onto the rusted fire escape. Metal clanged under her feet as they climbed, as shouts echoed below. Her chest burned, tears stung her eyes.
“Stop, please,” Her plea tore out of her, raw and desperate.
He didn’t answer. His silence was worse than shouting. He climbed, pulling her with him until they spilled onto the rain-slick roof, shivering under the city lights.
Below, doors slammed, engines revved, shadows swarmed. She was trapped, caged in the dark with the man who had stolenher from her own flat, and yet he kept his body angled between her and danger, his hold bruising but protective.
Then his hand pressed to his ear, voice low and sharp.“Command, this is Watchdog. I’m compromised. I need an urgent exfil.”
Her stomach twisted at the words. God, who the hell was he was talking to? What the hell was happening? She couldn’t hear a reply, couldn’t make sense of what he was doing, but the certainty in his voice chilled her to the core.
They ran again. Through the streets, the alleys, her bare feet slapping against wet pavement. She stumbled, nearly falling, but every time his arm caught her, pulling her upright, dragging her forward.
Gunfire cracked. Shouts echoed. A motorcycle roared. Clara sobbed, panic shredding her lungs, but he didn’t slow, didn’t falter.
