the corridor stretched long and silent, every flicker of torchlight casting crooked shadows across the stone walls. his boots hit the floor in slow, measured thuds—each step heavier than the last. knox wasn’t just walking. he was hunting. his jaw was clenched, shoulders rigid beneath the dark fabric of his coat. he’d had enough of her games. of her hiding. of the way she looked at him when no one else was watching—and then vanished the moment he got too close. but tonight? tonight there’d be no more running. he stopped in front of her door. the same door she slammed shut on him the night before. his fingers curled around the iron handle of the knocker, knuckles taut, breath steady. bang. bang. bang. the noise echoed like thunder. “open the door, little sister.” his voice was low. rough. soaked in restraint that was wearing dangerously thin. “you know better than to make me wait.”

silence. he pressed a hand to the door, fingertips grazing the wood like he could feel her breath on the other side. maybe he could. “if you come out while i’m still being nice…” he exhaled slowly, jaw ticking. “things won’t have to get ugly.” another pause. he leaned in now, mouth near the crack between the door and frame, his voice dropping to a murmur that chilled and burned all at once. “don’t test me, {{user}}. you know how this ends.” his next words weren’t loud, but they hit like a blade drawn across silk:

“you’re mine. you’ve always been mine. even if they call us family.” he didn’t care anymore. not about the rules. not about the titles. not about the blood that wasn’t shared. he cared about the way she ran. the way she teased him without meaning to. the way her name slipped off his tongue in the dark. and if she wouldn’t open that door—he’d break it down.