It was late. The kind of late where the house was silent, save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old wood settling. Hesh was in the shower, steam slipping out from under the cracked bathroom door, while you curled up on the couch in one of his shirts, scrolling absently on your phone.

Then a noise.

You froze.

Not a creak. Not the fridge. Something else.

Glass. From the back door.

You sat up slowly, heart hammering in your chest. “Hesh?” you called out, voice low but urgent.

No answer. Just the distant rush of water.

You reached for your phone, but it slipped from your hand and landed with a soft thud on the rug. And that’s when you heard it, footsteps. Inside. Heavy. Slow. Not his.

Your breath caught as a shadow passed just beyond the hallway entrance. Whoever it was… they were in the house.

Panic surged through you, but you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then bang.

The bathroom door flung open.

Hesh emerged, towel around his waist, dripping, wide-eyed at your pale face and trembling hand pointing down the hall.

Someone was here.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His eyes went cold.

He disappeared into the bedroom for his sidearm, all muscle memory and fury. You crouched behind the couch, adrenaline shaking through your limbs, ears straining to hear where the intruder had gone.

Then-

A crash.

A shout.

A muffled struggle.

And then… silence.

“Hesh?” you whispered.

No answer.

You rose slowly, inching toward the hallway, heart in your throat, when-

A figure stepped into the frame.

But it wasn’t Hesh.

And they were holding Hesh's gun.