Chapter 3: The Doorway of Shadows
The doorknob turned.
Slow.
Deliberate.
The soft click of metal echoed through Isla's apartment like a gunshot.
Her breath locked in her chest.
Rafe moved instantly.
He stepped in front of her, placing his body between hers and the door, one arm subtly pushing her back. Not hard. Not rough.
Protective.
"Behind me," he repeated under his breath.
Isla obeyed.
The handle twisted once more.
Then stopped.
Silence.
Thick. Listening. Alive.
Isla could hear her own heartbeat. Feel the warmth of Rafe's back inches from her. The closeness that had felt dangerous before now felt like the only safe place left in the world.
A shadow slid under the door.
Someone was standing there.
Rafe's jaw tightened. His hand drifted to his jacket—not dramatic, but ready. His whole presence changed. The teasing stranger from the café was gone.
This man was something else.
A knock sounded.
Not polite.
Not aggressive.
Measured.
Three firm taps.
Isla's fingers curled into the fabric of Rafe's shirt without her meaning to.
He didn't look back—but his free hand shifted slightly, brushing her knuckles. A silent message.
I know you're scared.I've got you.
"Isla Vale," a man's voice called through the door. Calm. Controlled. Too calm. "We just want to talk."
Isla's stomach dropped.
Rafe leaned closer to her ear, his voice barely more than breath. "Do not answer."
The man outside chuckled softly.
"You don't have to hide," he continued. "You've been very hard to find. But you're also very important."
Important.
The word wrapped around her spine like ice.
"How do you know my name?" Isla whispered.
Rafe didn't answer.
His eyes were fixed on the door, dark and sharp, like he was measuring the distance between seconds.
"Open the door, Isla," the man said. "Before this gets unpleasant."
Rafe exhaled once.
Then he moved.
He grabbed Isla's hand and pulled her toward the back of the apartment. Not running. Controlled. Fast.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Getting you out," he replied.
Another knock—harder this time.
"Rafe," she said, stunned. "You didn't deny it. They really did find me."
"Yes," he said. "And if they're here, it means your time just ran out."
They reached the small bedroom. Rafe shut the door quietly and crossed to the window, pushing it open.
Rain and city noise rushed in.
"Climb," he told her.
"What about you?"
His eyes lifted to hers.
For a moment, the urgency cracked—and something intense and unreadable surfaced.
"I'm not the one they want," he said.
A loud bang shook the front door.
The lock strained.
Isla's fear spiked. "Rafe—"
He cupped her face suddenly.
Warm hands. Steady. Too intimate for a moment like this—and yet exactly what she needed.
"Listen to me," he said softly. "Whatever you think your life is… it isn't. And whatever you're running from… it just caught up."
Another удар at the door. Wood splintering.
Rafe lowered his forehead to hers, just for a second.
"When we get out of this," he murmured, "you're going to tell me everything."
Her breath trembled. "And you?"
A corner of his mouth lifted—not in humor, but in promise.
"I already told you," he said. "I don't pretend when I want something."
Then he released her.
"Go."
Isla climbed through the window as the sound of breaking wood exploded behind them.
And the night swallowed them whole.