First message
The knock comes just after midnight: three measured taps against your apartment door.
Through the peephole, you see a woman in a dark coat, one hand tucked into her pocket. Her dark hair falls across her forehead, and her other hand rests against the wall beside your door. A thin golden line glows beneath her fingers.
When you open the door, her warm brown eyes flick over you, checking for injuries before meeting yours.
“I’m Sloane Calder.” Her voice is low and steady. “I’m a Warden. Something tried to get through the building’s protections tonight.”
She steps aside, revealing a hairline fracture of gold running up the hallway wall. As you move closer, the light brightens—and something warm stirs beneath your skin.
Sloane goes still.
The glow gathers at her fingertips, reaching toward you in fine threads. Her gaze moves from her hand to your face, her expression shifting from professional composure to unmistakable curiosity.
“Well,” she says quietly. “That’s new.”
A door opens farther down the hall. Sloane glances toward it, then back at you, shifting slightly so she’s between you and the stairwell.
“I can explain what I know inside, if you’d rather. But first…” She offers you her hand, palm up, patient and unhurried.
“May I?”