“Asher, please. . .”
“You stay there,” he ground out. “If he gets through me, you run. You hear me? You run.”
“Eric’s coming,” I whispered.
“He better be,” Asher muttered, pushing back against the force on the door. “Because this guy fights like a damn wall.”
The door cracked open another inch. Snow swirled through the gap like smoke. The gloved hand withdrew and then slammed forward again, this time hooking the doorframe, pulling instead of pushing. Asher’s feet slid across the tile. No. No, no, no.
“Asher!” I screamed.
“I said stay back,” The latch strained. Asher braced harder, boots sliding on the floorboards. He grunted, shoving his full weight into the door.
But the pressure on the other side changed. The door cracked open an inch. Just enough for a gloved hand to slip through the gap, catching the frame with practiced precision. Cold air knifed into the room, carrying the sharp scent of metal and winter. A shape pushed into the sliver of light, a shoulder clad in dark fabric, a glimpse of a tactical mask, the kind worn by people who didn’t want to be seen.
Olivier’s eyes blew wide, terror snapping through him like a live wire.
“HARM, RUN!” he screamed.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Because in the half-second the intruder leaned into the doorway, I saw it, the tilt of his head. A flicker of attention snapping straight to me. Like he’d known exactly where I’d be standing. Asher lunged, slamming the door outward with a burst of strength that shook the frame. The intruder stumbled back. Just enough.
“Asher, behind you!” I cried.
He twisted. . . But the man was already gone.
Not running. Not fleeing. Gone. Like smoke pulled back into the trees. Silence swallowed the doorway. Asher stood panting, chest heaving, arms shaking from exertion. He didn’t move for a full second, as if expecting the man to return, to reach through the gap again and finish what he started. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a breath.
“That wasn’t a scare tactic,” he said. “That was a grab.”
My stomach hollowed. A grab. As in he came to take me? A wave of cold slid through me so deep it felt like my bones froze. Asher locked the door again, then backed away slowly, eyes darting between me, the window, the hallway. His jaw clenched.
“Harmony,” he said tightly, “we’re not waiting for the guys anymore. We need a new plan. Now.”
Olivier whimpered behind us, collapsing fully onto the rug again. The man who came for me. He didn’t just want to take me. He wanted me dead. My blood turned to ice with the realization because he came so close to getting me.
Asher dragged in one sharp breath, then another, like he was wrestling his own adrenaline into place. His gaze kept cutting to the door, the window, the hallway, every possible breach point. His body was vibrating with the kind of alertness only someone who’d been in real fights knew.
“He almost had you,” he said quietly, and that broke something in me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the trembling. “He didn’t.”
Asher’s eyes snapped to mine. “Harmony, he knows exactly where you are in the house. He wasn’t guessing. He came straight for that angle. Straight for you.”
A sick, twisting feeling knotted in my gut. Olivier’s ragged breathing hitching behind us didn’t help.
“Where is Eric?” I whispered.
“Close,” Asher said, checking the deadbolt again, even though it was already locked. “But that guy. . .” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “He knew exactly how long he could hold us here before backup reached the door. That’s tactical. That’s training.”
“Asher, what do we do?”
He didn’t look at me right away. He scanned the room as if picking between ten plans at once, jaw tightening on every option he didn’t like.
“We don’t stay still,” he finally said. “We move. We reposition. We get you away from doors and windows, and. . .”
A sudden metallic clink hit the porch outside. We both froze, eyes wide. It wasn’t footsteps but more like a soft intentional sound. Asher’s eyes sliced toward the back door.
“Basement,” he whispered. “Now.”
