The door creaked open slowly.

Slow.

Creaking.

Intentional.

Leya did not move.

Not yet.

She was curled tight in the bend of the bed, turned away from the door, towards the wall. She was motionless, breathing even and deep, the only sound in a room still heavy with the scent of silence and stale air.

Then there were footsteps.

Two sets.

Heavy. Deliberate.

Harrison.

And—

Nathaniel.

She had their pace now. The way they moved. The way one moved like he owned ...