The knock echoed again.
Maeve's chest seized. She froze, every nerve stretched to breaking. Two measured raps. Not frantic, not careless. Purposeful. Like a man announcing his presence before he took a life.
Her apartment…if it could even be called that…wasn't meant to hold fear, but the walls suddenly felt thinner, the shadows deeper. She'd rented it weeks ago without noticing neighbors. Just a small house tucked behind a weather-worn gate, with faint voices sometimes drifting from nearby, but no one close enough to hear her scream.
Her pulse hammered.
She rose slowly from the couch, each step careful, muffled. Her bare feet carried her to the kitchen. She opened a drawer, fingers brushing metal until they closed around a knife. Her other hand seized the heavy skillet from the stovetop. Not much, but better than nothing.
She crept back, her breath shallow.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Her stomach turned over. Her mind filled the silence with one truth... Azlan. He had come for her.
He hadn't saved her in that alley. He had marked her. He had been playing a longer game, letting her run, letting her believe she was safe, only to end it here. Her life ending on a foreign street, her blood soaking the rug, her body found days later when the air turned foul.
A shudder tore through her. She shoved the couch against the door, the wood scraping across tile. The effort burned her arms, but adrenaline made her strong.
Her knees hit the floor. She gripped the knife, the pan, and whispered, "God, please. Not like this. Don't let this be the end."
The knock came again. Louder.
Her throat locked.
And then
"Hello?"
A man's voice, muffled through the door. Not deep, not deadly. Young. Nervous almost.
"Anyone home? Got a delivery for… Maeve Byrne? Hello?"
Maeve blinked. Her pulse stumbled. Delivery?
She sucked in a sharp breath, the memory cutting through her panic like light: she had ordered food hours ago. Forgotten, lost in fear and exhaustion.
Her muscles trembled with leftover terror as she dragged the couch back just enough to unlock the door. Slowly, cautiously, she cracked it open.
A young man stood there, barely in his twenties. Brown skin, headphones looped around his neck, a delivery bag slung over one shoulder. His English came clipped and careful, touched with an Arabic lilt.
"Uh… hi," he said, studying her face, brows creasing as if sensing the fear still lingering in her eyes. He held up the box. "Your… pizza?"
Maeve snatched the package, her voice breaking free before she could think. "Thank you, habibi."
His head tilted. His lips repeated the word softly, curious. "Habibi?"
Her heart lurched. Too close. Too raw. She slammed the door shut before the word could hang any longer in the air.
The silence returned, broken only by the faint hum of her fridge.
Maeve sagged against the wall, chest rising and falling. For a moment she imagined Azlan standing on the other side instead... his eyes, his scar, his darkness.
She pictured blood on the floor, her own lifeless stare fixed on the ceiling.
But when she looked down, it was only a pizza box in her hands.
She set it on the table, grabbed a soft drink from the fridge, and tore into the first slice. The melted cheese, the grease, it tasted like survival.
For the first time that night, she breathed.
Then her phone flashed.
A name lit the screen
Liam.
Her stomach clenched with guilt. She had forgotten him... her oldest friend, her secret crush once upon a time, the boy who had stood at her side through every heartbreak. He'd called earlier, his voice full of worry, but she had been too lost in smoke and shadows.
She tapped his number, lifting the phone to her ear.
It rang once. Twice. Then his familiar voice filled the line. "Mae! Finally. Thought you'd forgotten your oldest partner in crime."
Her lips curved despite herself. His warmth always did that.
"Never," she murmured.
"You sound tired." Concern threaded his tone. "Are you eating? Sleeping? You disappear to Morocco and then leave me with radio silence, my mum's convinced you've eloped with some camel trader."
Maeve laughed, the sound shaky but real. "Tell her I'm far too picky for that."
"That's debatable," Liam teased, but his voice gentled quickly. "Seriously though… are you alright?"
She hesitated, staring at the untouched slices of pizza. Images of Azlan flickered in her mind... eyes black as night, voice like smoke. She swallowed hard. "I'm fine. Just… worn out. Too much work."
She was glad the news about what happened that morning hadn't reached him. If it had, Liam would be beside himself with worry, and she couldn't bear to pile her shadows onto his steady shoulders. He was her safe place, and she wouldn't let Azlan's darkness creep into that.
"Don't run yourself dry." His sigh crackled through the line. "When are you coming back?"
Her gaze flicked to the suitcase by the door.
"Tomorrow."
"Good. And hey...two weeks, yeah? Birthday girl finally hits twenty-six." His voice warmed with mischief. "I've got a gift lined up that'll knock your socks off. Not telling, so don't even try wheedling it out of me."
Her chest softened. For the first time that day, her heart felt steady. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously brilliant, you mean."
She smiled, curling onto the couch, the phone pressed close. "Thanks, Liam."
"For what?"
"For being you."
He chuckled, low and fond. "Always, Mae."
When the call ended, Maeve let the silence settle around her, soft and heavy. For a moment, she thought maybe, just maybe, she could finally rest.
But Azlan's name clung like smoke at the edges of her mind.
She pushed the thought of him away, grabbed her phone, and scrolled through TikTok just to drown out the heaviness. Clips of dances, memes, random faces filled the screen until her eyelids grew heavy.
The phone slipped from her hand.
Sleep pulled her under.
Footsteps pounded against the forest floor. She was running, breath tearing in her lungs, the trees blurring past. Someone was chasing her....fast, relentless, each step closing the gap.
She spun around and he was there.
Azlan.
His dark eyes locked into hers, sharp as blades.
"Why do you run away from your destiny?" His voice coiled around her like smoke.
Maeve's chest rose and fell, her voice breaking. "Let go of me."
But he didn't grab her. He simply stepped back, his gaze burning through the distance. "You belong to me."
Her heart hammered. She stumbled back, then turned and ran again. Branches slapped her arms, her breath ragged, panic clawing her chest. She looked back he hadn't moved. He only stood watching.
Then slowly, deliberately, he slid his hand into his pocket.
A gun gleamed in his grip.
Her blood ran cold.
She ran harder, desperate, her feet barely touching the ground.
The forest echoed with the sudden crack of a gunshot.
BANG.
Maeve froze. A jolt of pain surged through her body... raw, unbearable. She gasped, clutching her chest as her knees buckled.
And as the world darkened, Azlan's voice followed her down:
"You cannot run forever, Maeve Byrne."
Maeve jolted awake with a strangled cry, drenched in sweat, her sheets tangled around her. Her chest still ached as if the bullet had truly pierced her. Her pulse thrashed in her ears, the dream lingering like poison in her veins.
Now he was tormenting her sleep also. Who was this man? A killer? A nightmare wrapped in flesh? She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to steady her breathing.
She couldn't stay here. No. First thing tomorrow morning, she'd leave. They'd never cross paths again.
But a shiver crawled down her spine at the thought of his eyes watching her, hunting her like a hawk. What if he followed her? What if he trailed her all the way to Ireland?
"No…" she whispered into the dark. "He won't."
Or would he?
She didn't know anymore.
But one thing was certain she wasn't safe. Not here. Maybe not anywhere. And if she could, she'd get the police involved. Someone had to stop him.
Her phone buzzed suddenly on the nightstand.
Maeve froze.
The screen lit up with a single message.
From an unknown number.
"You thinking about me?"
Her stomach dropped. The words mirrored her very thoughts, as if Azlan had reached inside her head. Her trembling hand hovered over the phone, too afraid to touch it, too terrified to answer.
Her heart pounded louder, the silence unbearable.
The phone buzzed again.
Another message.
"I'm at your doorstep, Maeve."
The screen went dark.
And Maeve sat frozen in the glow of the night, too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe.