(Isobel's Point Of View)
I woke up to find Etienne standing at the window, completely naked, holding a fire poker like a weapon.
"What the actual hell are you doing?" I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest.
"There's something outside."
"So you decided the best course of action was to strip down and arm yourself with medieval weaponry?"
"I was hot. And this was the closest thing I could grab." He didn't take his eyes off the window. "I'm serious. I heard something."
I listened. The cottage held its breath with me: the soft creak of timber as it cooled, a loose shutter tinkling against the frame, the distant hush of wind through the pines. Sure enough, there was a rustling sound coming from outside, followed by what sounded like scratching at the door — a frantic, skittering noise that made the hairs along my arms stand up.
"Oh my God," I whispered. "It's the paparazzi. They found us. They've resorted to woodland stalking tactics."
"That's not—"
