Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound cut through the quiet of the apartment like a blade, sharp, urgent, insistent. It was not the gentle tap of a neighbor or the rhythmic knock of a delivery person.
This was the kind of knocking that came from someone who had run out of patience, who had no time for pleasantries, who was prepared to break the door down if it did not open in the next few seconds.
Erza's instincts snapped awake.
Her body tensed, her violet eyes sharpened, and her hand curled into a fist at her side.
But her mind was not on the door, not entirely.
Her gaze flickered to Yuuta, still sleeping on the sofa, and she saw the sweat beading on his forehead, the way his brow furrowed even in sleep, the tension in his jaw that had not been there an hour ago.
Something was wrong.
Something was happening to him, and she did not know what it was or how to stop it.
