The intercom should not have been able to wake itself.
Nora hadn't touched it in months. She didn't even remember the last time she'd spoken through it. But it warmed anyway—plastic going faintly alive—then hissed with a thin, dry static that put the taste of pennies at the back of her tongue.
"Nora," a voice said.
Not loud. Not threatening.
Just… certain. The sound of a hand placed at the base of her neck by someone who never had to ask twice.
"May I come up?"
Her living room was too small for the men it held.
Kaelen sat on the floor near the couch like a guard dog forced into manners, all contained heat and clenched patience.
Rix occupied the shadow line with lazy arrogance, as if darkness were furniture made for him.
Zane stood by the window, still enough to be mistaken for part of the frame—eyes reflecting city light like cold water.
Nora didn't answer.
She watched her own hand on the door chain. Watched her knuckles. Watched for tremor.
Nothing.
Good.
She reached back and set her palm on Kaelen's fist.
The change was instant: his temperature surged under her skin, violence hitting the leash and stopping. His breath went shallow, controlled—like he was swallowing fire because her hand said not yet.
"No," Nora said to the intercom.
A pause.
Not offended.
Interested.
"No?" the voice repeated, amused as if she'd offered a clever joke.
"Not alone. Not now." Nora kept it flat. "And not through my door like you already own the hallway."
Kaelen's head lifted sharply. Something in his expression cracked—surprise that she'd said it clean, almost pleased.
Rix's smile widened, delighted.
Zane's gaze narrowed like he was watching a lock click into place.
Another pause.
Then, softer—almost fond: "You told me to ask."
"I did." Nora's fingers tightened once on Kaelen's fist. "And you did. That's the only reason you're still a request."
Static breathed—like laughter learning how to use wires. "Then I will wait."
The line went dead.
Not with a click.
With a politeness that felt like a promise.
Kaelen exhaled through his nose, slow and hot. Rix rolled his shoulders as if settling in for a show. Zane didn't relax at all.
"That wasn't the Bureau," Zane said.
Nora didn't look away from the speaker grill. "How do you know?"
"Because they don't ask," Zane replied. "They enter."
Kaelen's voice dropped to something barely human. "He used your name."
Nora swallowed. Hearing it from that voice had felt like fingertips inside her spine—familiar in a way that made her stomach twist.
"Names are mine to give," she said.
It came out steady.
Her body didn't feel steady. Her ribs felt too tight. Her pulse had moved into her throat.
Kaelen watched her like he'd just learned her rules weren't about being nice.
They were about keeping her herself.
Nora crossed to the counter. Zane's little black remote sat there like a tooth pulled and kept as proof. The kill switch.
She pressed it again—third time tonight—just to hear the small, stupid click.
The cheap lamp blinked. The robot vacuum stayed dead. Her phone remained facedown.
Inside this apartment, she could still choose what was alive.
Outside—
Outside waited.
She didn't sleep.
She lay on the couch with one hand tucked under her ribs like she could pin her heart in place. Kaelen stayed on the floor at her feet, too alert to be human. Rix watched the ceiling like it might peel open. Zane stood by the window, a silhouette stitched to glass.
At some point, dawn turned the blinds gray.
Nora's sock had slipped halfway off her heel. A stupid detail. A human detail.
She held onto it because holding onto anything else meant remembering that voice saying her name like it belonged in its mouth.
Then the knock came.
Not timid. Not lazy.
Precise.
Three knocks. A measured pause. Three again.
A metronome trained by someone who never had to beg.
Kaelen rose in one motion. Heat jumped in the room as if someone had opened an oven door.
Rix's pupils thinned.
Zane's head tilted, listening, and Nora felt his cold gather like a blade being drawn halfway.
The knock came again.
"Don't," Nora said—quiet, not to the door.
To the men behind her.
Kaelen's jaw flexed. "They're here for you."
"They're not here to save you," Zane murmured close to her ear.
Rix's smile flashed, hungry. "Let me open it. Let me smell what kind of men knock like that."
Nora didn't give them room to spiral.
She reached back and placed her palm on Kaelen's chest.
Heat. Immediate. Familiar as disaster.
Kaelen froze like a weapon awaiting permission.
"Behind me," Nora said.
Not Stay.
Not the expensive word that would bite back later.
Just a place.
Kaelen's pride fought. His nostrils flared. His fingers twitched.
Then—slowly—he stepped back half a pace.
Behind her.
Relief hit Nora so hard her vision glittered at the edges. She turned her head just enough to meet his gaze.
"Good," she whispered.
Kaelen's expression broke for half a second—like praise hurt more than chains.
Nora lifted his restrained hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles.
Brief. Deliberate.
Kaelen went perfectly still.
The heat didn't spike.
It settled, like he'd found the point where obedience turned into reward.
Under the door, a strip of paper slid in—clean white, like the building had coughed up a receipt.
A seal stamped across it made Nora's stomach drop.
CIVIC CONTAINMENT & PUBLIC SAFETY
ASSISTANCE REQUIRED — COOPERATIVE INTERVIEW
Her name at the top, in block letters:
NORA LIN
Nora's fingers trembled when she picked it up.
She hated that she couldn't stop it.
Zane leaned close enough that his breath brushed her ear. "They've got the station feed."
Kaelen heard the intimacy and his jaw locked. Rix clicked his tongue, offended on principle.
"Whispering is his thing," Rix said. "I'm more of a hands-on communicator."
Nora didn't laugh. She didn't let her throat tighten.
The knock came again—closer.
A voice amplified through the hallway, bored with politeness.
"Ms. Lin. Open the door."
Nora went still.
No one in this building knew her last name.
She'd never given it. Never traded it for neighborly small talk. Never paid that price.
The voice continued, clinical as a form:
"Nora Lin. Apartment 12C. Forty‑Four Rowland Avenue. Authorized entry for cooperative recovery and public safety compliance."
Full name.
Address.
Spoken like a verdict.
The air in her apartment warped as if it wanted to catch fire.
Behind her, Kaelen's breath changed—lower, rougher. Rix's smile vanished. Zane's face went blank like a switch flipped inside him.
And Nora—Nora's ears rang, late and sharp, as if the hallway had reached through the door and touched a nerve.
Metal flooded her mouth.
She swallowed it down and kept her spine straight.
The deadbolt clicked once.
Not turning.
Just acknowledging pressure.
Like the hallway had learned her locks.
Kaelen's voice dropped to a feral whisper. "Say the word."
His eyes didn't leave Nora's.
"And I'll make the hall quiet."
Nora tasted bile and forced it down.
If she flinched, she became prey again.
So she put her hand on the doorknob, kept Kaelen behind her, and chose the only thing that had ever worked:
Rules.
Her voice came out calm.
"You can knock," she called through the door. "You can speak. You can ask."
A beat.
Then—quieter, almost to herself, but sharp enough to be a vow:
"And I decide who gets an answer."