The Wolf at Her Door

The knock came just after midnight.

Not the casual kind.

The kind that said: we know you’re home.

Three slow, deliberate thuds against my door, like a reaper in Gucci shoes.

I didn’t move at first. Just stared at the door from the couch, heart beating steady, not fast. I’d trained for this — moments where the quiet breaks and something dangerous tries to crawl through.

The knocks came again.

Slower this time.

I stood, silent. Barefoot. Dressed in a tank top and pajama pants, hair in a messy bun. The image of comfort. But my body was tight — muscles wound, every nerve alert.

I grabbed the Glock from the drawer by the fridge. Safety off. Finger resting, not trembling.

My voice was low.

“Who is it?”

No answer.

I moved to the peephole.

No one there.

But that didn’t mean nothing.

I checked the security feed on my phone. Rina had rigged the cameras three days after I moved in. I scanned the hallway cam.

Nothing.

But the camera above my door? Dead.

Offline.

I cursed under my breath. Only two types of people kill a cam that quietly thieves… or professionals.

And I already knew which one I was dealing with.

I backed away from the door, gun still raised, breathing quiet. If they wanted to force their way in, let them try.

But they didn’t.

After a minute of silence, something slid under the door.

A white envelope.

No markings. No logo.

Just one word printed in neat block letters:

RUN.

My blood turned to ice.

Because that wasn’t a threat.

It was a warning.

I didn’t sleep.

I watched the feeds. Gun still in my hand. Waited for a second knock, a shadow at the window, a breath too loud.

Nothing.

Rina called just after 2 AM. I filled her in.

“You need to get out of there,” she said. “Like now.”

“If I run, I lose my leverage,” I said, still staring at the screen. “They know who I am. But they don’t know what I know. Not yet.”

Rina exhaled hard. “This isn’t a chess match anymore, Nia. It’s open season.”

I leaned my head back. “Good. Let them hunt. Let them think I’m alone.”

“Are you?” she asked quietly.

The question cut deeper than I expected.

Because the truth?

I didn’t know.

By morning, I was dressed and back at the office.

Same fake smile. Same cold calm. Same damn silence in my chest that used to be a heartbeat.

The moment I stepped off the elevator, I felt it the stares, the static.

Something had changed.

I walked past desks and whispered conversations. Half-smiles that didn’t reach eyes. And when I reached mine?

My computer was gone.

Replaced with a sticky note that said:

“Conference Room B. Now.”

I didn’t flinch. Just straightened my blouse and walked there like I owned the place.

Inside the glass room sat three people.

Roxanne Ford head of security.

Talia, my so-called supervisor.

And at the head of the table?

Julius Westwood.

In the flesh.

My throat went dry, but I didn’t let it show. I walked in like nothing was wrong, sat down like the seat was mine.

“Miss Ward,” Julius said smoothly, steepling his fingers. “Mind telling us why you’ve been accessing restricted files without clearance?”

So this is how they were gonna play it.

I tilted my head. “I haven’t accessed anything outside what Talia directed me to.”

Talia blinked. “I—uh—”

Julius raised a hand. “Please, Talia. We’re not here to point fingers. Just clarify intentions.”

His voice was like a silk noose. Charming. Controlled. Deadly.

I met his eyes. “With all due respect, sir, if I’m under review, I’d like to know my rights.”

He smiled. “This isn’t legal, Elise. It’s internal. And I’m merely asking if you’ve come across anything… compromising. Anything that doesn’t belong.”

You mean like murder files? Human trafficking contracts? My own name on your death list?

I smiled back.

“No, sir. I’m here to do my job.”

Julius studied me for a long second. “Of course.”

He stood. “You’re dismissed.”

Just like that.

Roxanne didn’t even glance at me.

But Julius… he held my stare a heartbeat too long.

And in that second, I knew.

He knew.

He didn’t know everything not yet but he smelled blood. Mine.

I made it back to my desk, breath steady, hands calm.

Damien was waiting.

He leaned against the cubicle wall, arms crossed, eyes dark.

“You’re not fired?”

I shook my head. “Apparently not.”

“You should be.”

I smirked. “You always this friendly with your employees?”

“Only the ones that lie like it’s a first language.”

I stood, face inches from his.

“You want truth? Fine. I’m here for answers. I’m here because this company stinks of secrets. I’m here because people are dying and no one’s asking why.”

His jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know something’s wrong?”

“I think you’ve spent your life pretending not to see it.”

We stared each other down.

Then he said, voice raw:

“I don’t know who you are. But I need to.”

I stepped back. “Then look harder.”

That night, I didn’t go home.

I went underground.

Literally.

Rina’s safehouse was tucked under an abandoned train station cement walls, low light, cold air, and the smell of wires and coffee.

“You brought friends,” she said, pointing at the envelope.

I handed it to her. “Slide it open. Don’t touch the paper.”

She used tweezers.

Inside? A blank note. But Rina knew better. She hit it with blacklight.

A message appeared in scrawled handwriting:

"CrossPoint is coming. You have 72 hours."

Gideon.

It had to be.

He was the only one who knew both sides who’d worked for Julius and saved me once before.

“He’s warning you,” Rina muttered.

“Yeah. But warning me of what?”

She looked up. “You ever consider maybe you weren’t the only ghost that came back from the dead?”

I met her eyes.

And for the first time in a long time…

I wasn’t sure who the real enemy was anymore.