Page 162 of The Moonborn's Curse

But she didn't want to hear it. Not now.

Her face was cold, but her eyes were fire.

But before the argument could catch flame-

Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

Fast. Solid. Familiar.

Threk.

His silhouette filled the stairwell as he climbed—arms full of overflowing shopping bags, a massive pink bakery box balanced precariously on one elbow. His bearded face was bright with good-natured purpose, his stride casual, humming under his breath like he didn't expect the apocalypse waiting on the landing.

Then he saw them.

Seren. Backed against the doorframe, chest rising and falling like she'd just run a mile.

And Hagan.

Too close.

The good-natured grin vanished. Replaced by something hard and deeply territorial.

He didn't speak. Just moved.

One massive step forward.

Two.

He wedged his enormous body between them with practiced ease—muscle and sheer mass forcing space, his wide shoulders pressing Hagan back. Seren was gently but firmly squeezed against her door.

"Can't—breathe," she muttered, flattened like a note against the wood.

Threk shifted half an inch, but his eyes didn't leave Hagan.

"Step back. Right. Now." he said, voice calm and low.

Hagan didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Was too shocked to comply.

So Threk gave a longsuffering sigh.

And dropped the grocery bags with a thud.

The donut box somehow remained upright, balanced like a miracle on top of a cereal box.

Then—before Hagan could do more than widen his eyes—Threk grabbed him.

A solid hand around his midsection. One arm hooked under his thighs.

"Hey—what the—!" Hagan shouted, his feet leaving the floor.

Three flights of stairs. He was gone like the wind.

Seren ran after them, her sandals slapping the concrete.

---