The fluorescent bulb above Yuna's desk flickered once, twice, then died with a soft pop that echoed in the sudden dark. She froze, pencil hovering over her notebook, heart kicking up a notch. The small apartment plunged into shadow, only the faint glow from the streetlamp outside her window preventing total blackout.
"Seriously?" she muttered, rubbing her temples. Finals week was already a war zone—three papers due, a group project presentation tomorrow, and now the power grid decided to betray her. She glanced at her phone: 11:47 p.m. No time to call maintenance. She needed to finish this chapter summary or sleep would be a lost cause.
Yuna pushed back from the desk, the chair legs scraping loudly against the worn hardwood. She fumbled toward the kitchen drawer for the emergency flashlight her roommate Mia had insisted on buying after last year's blackout fiasco. Her fingers brushed the cool metal handle when a sharp knock rattled the front door.
She stilled. Who the hell knocked at midnight?
Another knock—three firm raps, polite but insistent.
Yuna's pulse quickened. Mia was out with Tyler at some late-night study group that was probably just an excuse to drink cheap beer and flirt. No deliveries expected. She crept to the peephole, bare feet silent on the floor.
A man stood in the hallway, dressed in a navy utility jumpsuit, clipboard in hand. Mid-thirties, maybe, clean-shaven, unremarkable. The kind of face you forgot five seconds after seeing it. He wore a name tag: Maintenance – Unit 4B.
"Miss Kim? Building maintenance," he called through the door, voice calm and professional. "Power outage reported on this floor. Need to check the breaker box in your unit. Won't take long."
Yuna hesitated. The building super never sent anyone this late without texting first. But the power was out, and she was desperate for light. She cracked the door on the chain, just enough to peer out.
The man offered a small, practiced smile. "I can show you my ID if you'd like."
She studied him. Something felt... off. His eyes were too steady, too focused. Like he was memorizing her face rather than asking for entry.
"I... I'll call the super first," she said, starting to close the door.
His hand shot out, catching the edge before it latched. The chain strained.
"Miss Kim," he said, voice dropping low, "we really need to talk."
Adrenaline flooded her. She shoved the door hard, but he was stronger. The chain snapped with a metallic ping. He pushed inside, shutting the door behind him with his foot.
Yuna stumbled back, heart slamming against her ribs. "Get out! I'm calling the police—"
He moved fast—too fast—grabbing her wrist. His grip was iron.
Panic clawed up her throat. She yanked, twisting, but he pulled her closer, face inches from hers. His breath smelled faintly of mint and something metallic.
"You're coming with me," he said quietly. "Quietly. No one has to get hurt."
Terror surged through her—hot, blinding. In that instant, something inside Yuna shifted. A strange heat bloomed in her chest, racing down her arm to where his fingers dug into her skin. It wasn't pain. It was... pressure. Like a dam cracking.
The man's eyes widened. His grip slackened. A tremor ran through him.
"What the—?" he whispered.
Yuna didn't understand what was happening, but she felt it: his fear. Not just any fear—hers, reflected back, amplified a hundredfold. His pupils dilated, breath coming in shallow gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead in seconds.
He released her like she'd burned him. Staggered back, hands shaking. "No... no, this isn't—"
He turned and bolted for the door, fumbling with the knob before wrenching it open and disappearing into the dark hallway. His footsteps pounded down the stairs, frantic, almost panicked.
Yuna stood frozen, chest heaving, staring at the empty doorway. The apartment was silent again except for her ragged breathing.
What the hell just happened?
She slammed the door shut, locked it, chained it, then backed away until her legs hit the couch. Her wrist throbbed where he'd grabbed her, but there was no mark. Just a faint warmth lingering on her skin, like sunlight trapped under flesh.
Her mind raced. Burglar? Stalker? But the way he'd looked at her—like he'd seen something impossible...
A soft knock came again. Different this time—gentler, almost hesitant.
Yuna's stomach dropped. She grabbed her phone, thumb hovering over emergency call.
"Miss Kim?" A deeper voice, smoother, laced with quiet authority. "It's Professor Hawthorne. From Mythology 301. I live in the building next door. I heard shouting. Are you all right?"
She knew that voice. Elias Hawthorne—tall, reserved, the kind of professor who commanded a lecture hall without raising his voice. The one whose office hours she avoided because his steady gaze made her feel oddly exposed.
She approached the door on unsteady legs, peered through the peephole.
There he stood under the emergency light in the hall: dark coat over a crisp button-down, hair slightly tousled as if he'd been woken. Concern etched his sharp features.
Yuna's hand trembled on the chain. She shouldn't open the door. Not after that.
But something in his eyes—calm, watchful, almost... knowing—made her hesitate.
She unlatched the chain.
The moment the door swung open, Elias stepped inside without waiting for invitation, closing it behind him. His gaze swept the room—desk, scattered books, the broken chain dangling—then settled on her.
"You're shaking," he said softly. Not a question.
"I... there was a man. Maintenance. He—he tried to grab me." The words tumbled out. "I don't know what happened. He just... ran."
Elias's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Recognition? Or calculation?
"Did he touch you?" he asked, voice low.
She nodded, lifting her wrist instinctively. "Here. But I'm fine. He just... freaked out and left."
Elias's gaze dropped to her skin. For a heartbeat, his jaw tightened. Then he met her eyes again.
"You need to come with me," he said. "Right now. It's not safe here tonight."
Yuna blinked. "What? Professor, I—"
"Trust me, Yuna." He used her first name—something he never did in class. The sound of it on his lips sent an unexpected shiver through her. "There are things you don't understand yet. Things about to come for you again."
She stared at him, pulse roaring in her ears. The apartment lights flickered back on suddenly, flooding the room with harsh white.
And in that bright glare, she saw it: a faint shimmer around Elias, like heat rising off pavement. Gone in an instant.
But she'd seen it.
Her voice came out barely a whisper. "Who are you?"
Elias stepped closer—close enough that she caught the faint scent of cedar and old books.
"I'm the one who's been watching over you," he said quietly. "For longer than you can imagine."
Before she could respond, a distant crash echoed from the stairwell—glass shattering, followed by heavy footsteps racing back up.
Elias's hand closed around her arm. Gentle, but firm.
"They're coming back," he murmured. "And this time, they won't run."