“Good,” he affirmed.“Sleep.”
“You too.”
The line went quiet.I went to bed wrapped in the echo of his voice, my body heavy with contentment and exhaustion.Sleep came quickly, deep and dreamless.
Until it didn’t.
A sound pulled me out of it—sharp, wrong.
I lay still, heart pounding, listening.Another sound.A soft metallic click.Not loud.Deliberate.
Adrenaline flooded my system, cold and fast.
I slid my hand under my pillow where my phone lived, fingers closing around it without turning the screen on.The apartment was dark, the kind of dark that pressed in on you, every shadow suddenly suspicious.
I told myself it was nothing.
I told myself it was the building settling.
Then I heard it again.
Closer.
I moved slowly, every step deliberate, padding out of the bedroom barefoot, my pulse roaring in my ears.The living room loomed ahead, bathed in faint streetlight bleeding through the curtains.
That’s when I saw him.
Masked.Dressed in dark clothes.Standing near my door like he belonged there.
The gun was already raised.
Time slowed.
“Don’t scream,” he instructed calmly.“Do exactly what I tell you, and you won’t get hurt.”
My mouth went dry.My hands shook, but I kept them visible, raised slightly, palms open.
Okay, Nita.Breathe.Think.Overreactions got people killed.Playing it smart allowed me a chance to keep breathing.
“I won’t scream,” I agreed, forcing my voice steady.
“Good,” he replied.“Grab your coat.Shoes.”
I did as instructed, my movements careful, deliberate.Every training instinct screamed at me to memorize details—height, build, voice—but the mask obscured too much.He planned this.And planned it well.
He backed toward the door, gun never wavering.“Phone stays here.”
I hesitated.
“Now.”
I set it down on the table.
He opened the door and gestured.“Move.”
The hallway was silent.Empty.My heart hammered with every step as he guided me toward the back stairs.Smart.No cameras there once we got to the bottom.
The night air hit me like a slap as we stepped outside.
