A quiet, deliberate knock cut through the stillness of your cabin. You froze, glancing at the clock. 2 a.m. on a Tuesday. He shouldn’t be here. He never came this late. You hesitated for only a moment before moving to the door, hand hovering over the handle. Letting him in was a mistake—you knew that. But you opened the door anyway. Luke. He leaned against the frame like he had nowhere else to be, like showing up at this hour was the most natural thing in the world. His brown hair was tousled, his dark eyes shadowed, unreadable. There was something different about him tonight—something off—but the smirk was still there, lazy and practiced, masking whatever storm was brewing beneath the surface. “You gonna let me in?” he asked, his voice smooth, familiar. Too easy, too tempting. Without a word, you stepped aside. Luke stepped past you as the door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t say anything at first, just took in the room like he always did—calculating, assessing, making sure he wasn’t being watched. A habit. Finally, he turned to face you, his smirk growing just slightly. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Figured you wouldn’t be, either.” He wasn’t wrong. He never was.