There’s no vehicles.No sign of a break-in.But still it doesn’t settle me.It makes the silence worse.Heavier.Like the calm before a bullet shatters glass.
Please.Fuck.Please be okay.
I get out, slam the door and run.My boots hammering the dirt, heart in my throat, gun already in my hand.
Every step crunches beneath me, loud as gunfire in my ears, as I tear up the porch, muscles strung so tight I might fucking snap.
The front door’s still closed.No blood.No shattered glass.No signs of a struggle.And that’s what makes it worse.
Because if they got in without a fight, it means they were careful.It means they were quiet and they planned this.
I press up to the door, back tight to the frame, and lower my breathing.My ear meets the wood.
Nothing.No footsteps.No voices.No fucking sound at all.
Just silence.
I press my thumb to the scanner and hold it there.
One beat.Two.Then a soft click as the lock disengages.I twist the handle slowly, dread curling in my gut over whatever the fuck’s waiting on the other side.
I slip inside, gun drawn, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch through my ribs.The door creaks closed behind me with a soft click.
I sweep the living room first.The fire’s burned low in the hearth, barely glowing.The couch is empty.Nothing is out of place… and yet everything feels wrong.
I move fast, silent.Check the kitchen, There’s no sign of movement.The hallway is clear.Each footstep hits like a countdown.I nudge open the bathroom door with my boot.
“Emery,” I whisper.
No answer.I grip the gun tighter.My chest tightens, every muscle locked down as I cross the space toward the bedroom.My finger brushes the trigger, my mind already prepared for what I might see.
Then… movement.
I swing toward it, gun raised.
And then I see her.Emery.Standing in the doorway.Eyes wide.Barefoot.And fuck she’s alive.
“Matteo?”
I freeze.
Breath locks in my lungs, blood roaring in my ears.
She’s okay.
She’s fucking okay.
Relief slams into me so hard my knees nearly give out.I lower the gun immediately.Shove it into the waistband of my pants.The metal bites into my spine.Then I close the distance in two fast steps.
I grab her face in my hands.I need to feel her, to know she’s real.Then I pull her into my chest, bury my face in her neck, and hold her so tight it feels like my body might snap in half.
“What’s wrong?”she breathes, arms wrapping around me.
I don’t answer right away.I can’t.My hands are still shaking.My pulse is a fucking drumbeat of panic.
I finally pull back and cup her face in both hands.Her skin is warm.She’s alive.And fuck, I nearly fall apart just from that.
“I thought—” My voice breaks, chest twisting hard.I swallow it down.Try again.“They know,” I whisper.“My father’s men.I saw them in town.”
