Page 8 of Knight

Processing access code ...

Access granted.

Cab in motion.

Every nerve in my body snaps to attention. I didn’t authorize that. The access logs show no anomalies. No hacks. No brute force entry. Just a standard authorization.

The elevator arrives. Doors slide open. Pause. Close.

The log records each action. But there are no alerts. No warning flags. Nothing to indicate this isn’t routine.

Except itisn’troutine. It isn’t normal. It’s fucking impossible.

Someone is here.

The Glock slides free of its holster, familiar weight against my palm. This isn’t the first time someone has tried to breach my space. It’s not even the first timethisyear.

But something about this feels different. Wrong in a way that sets every instinct screaming. Whoever managed this breach didn’t just get lucky. They had valid codes. Codes that don’t exist outside of my mind.

The reinforced door opens without a sound, and I ease into the darkness of the main room.

Whoever is out there just made their first mistake.

It’ll be their last.

This ismyterritory. Every shadow, every corner, every line of sight carefully calculated. I designed this place like a chess board.

Anyone who makes it this far becomes just another piece in play.

My night vision is better than most—a side effect of living like a cave-dwelling troll, according to Rook. The shadows of my apartment stretch out before me, familiar territory turned hunting ground.

The intruder is heading toward my office, but something is off about their movement. They aren’t sneaking, or trying to stay hidden. They’re moving like they have every right to be here. Like someone trying not to wake a sleeping house, rather than avoiding detection.

That’s new.

And infinitely more concerning.

The figure steps into the faint moonlight spilling through the gaps of the blinds covering the floor-to ceiling windows. Female.Dark hair. Something in her hands. A laptop, maybe. Or a weapon.

It doesn’t matter.

She’s in my space.

The Glock is already up.

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