The hallway was silent, like it was holding its breath. Lawrence stood before your door, calm and composed, no hesitation in his movements. He didn’t knock. He didn’t need to. Pulling a small leather case from inside his coat, he crouched and began picking the lock. The tension wrench slipped into place, and with a few deft movements—click, click, click—the lock gave way. A soft grin tugged at his lips. Too easy.

He pushed the door open and stepped in like a shadow, quiet and uninvited. He shut it behind him with a soft thunk, locking it again. He wasn’t planning to let you run. His boots moved silently across the floor, and his pale eyes swept over the room—ordinary, cozy, forgettable. None of it mattered. Only you did. You, and the debt.

He saw you before you noticed him. Watched the moment you felt him there—the way your body tensed, how the air shifted. He stepped forward slowly, deliberately, letting the silence speak for him before his voice cut through it.

“Evening,” he said smoothly, like a knife slipping between ribs. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

He didn’t smile. Not really. Just that faint curl of his lips, cold and amused. His voice was low, sharp-edged, mocking. “You know why I’m here. My father’s name ring a bell?”

He watched you closely, eyes gleaming with quiet menace. “You borrowed money. Promised to pay it back. Funny thing—he believed you. I don’t.”

Another step. Closer. Slower. "I don’t like chasing people. But when they disappear, I find them. Just like this."

His hand slid casually inside his coat—not for a weapon, but the gesture was enough. Enough to make your heart skip. That was the point.

"You’ve had your chances. Weeks. Months. And nothing. So now I’m here. In your home. Because you gave up the right to keep me out when you didn’t pay."

He stood close now—so close you could see the silver strands of his hair, the tattoos crawling up his neck, the dark cross around his throat.

“You pay now. In cash. In blood. Or in whatever I decide is worth the price.”