Page 23 of Penance

Bam.

I reach out a trembling hand, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the doorknob. But I don’t turn it, not yet. Instead, I lean forward, pressing my eye to the peephole, pushing up onto my toes to get a better look.

My breath catches as I recognize who is standing outside.

Draco.

Draco is outside my door? His tall, wide frame fills the distorted view, his hood drawn up, casting shadows over his face.

What does he want from me?

Even through the tiny lens, I can see the annoyance etched into his features, the tense set of his jaw, the way his deep brown eyes narrowed intensely at the door.

“I know you’re there, Mercy,” he growls. “I can hear you.”

A gasp escapes my lips, and I step back, my heart racing for a different reason. Yet, there’s a spark of something else—curiosity, a pull that I can’t quite explain.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

I don’t have to open the door.

I don’t have to acknowledge him at all.

Yet, there’s a part of me that wants to open the door, to face him, to understand why he’s here.

But caution holds me back.

What if he’s here to hurt me?

The cold metal of the door chain bites into my fingers as I slide it silently into place—a thin thing, but something that will give me at least the illusion of safety. I turn the lock slowly, the soft click echoing in the silent apartment until I jump.

The door slips open just enough to show me a sliver of Draco’s intense gaze. Cold air slips in from outside, slithering up the bottom of my towel and sending a shiver through me. Draco’s eyes narrow as they meet mine, his annoyance pulsing between us.

“Your whining is keeping me up,” he says, his voice a low rumble. His words are clipped, tense, a stark contrast to the usual calmness that sends aches through my heart.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I hadn’t realized my crying had been loud enough to disturb anyone else. Part of me wants to shrink back, to hide, but another part bristles defensively.

“I-I didn’t mean to—” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. I catch myself, closing my jaw with a snap.

I don’t owe him an apology.

I don’t owe him anything.

“Sorry,” I say, the word short and cut.

Draco’s eyes bore into mine.

“It’s late, Mercy. Some of us have better things to do than listen to you cry yourself to sleep.” His voice drops lower, a dangerous edge creeping in.

The dim light of the hallway casts an eerie glow through the crack in the door, painting a stark line across his face. His gaze remains fixed on me, his eyes two dark pits that seem to swallow the light. I feel small, exposed, even with the door barely open and the chain secured tightly.

He could break it down if he tried.

He could reach through the door, wrap his hand around my throat, and squeeze until the light left me.

He could.

But he didn’t.

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