Her head snaps toward the door. Her eyes fill—not with tears, but with something fiercer.
It's Harry.
His voice isn't calm. It's ragged, frantic. She can hear the panic in every syllable, the disbelief turning into terror.
She tries to scream his name, tries to force the sound past the thick tape pressed against her lips, but it only comes out as a muffled cry, half-choked by desperation. Her body thrashes, the chair creaking beneath her, heels pounding against the cold floor.
The man tenses. His smirk drops.
He turns toward the door with a hiss of frustration, the kind that only comes from losing control. He didn't expect this. He hadn't planned for this.
He glances back at Grace—eyes blazing with something almost like hatred now—but she doesn't flinch. She meets his gaze head-on, her own burning with defiance.
Then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The door shakes violently.
"Grace! Are you in there?! Answer me if you can hear me!"
Her feet slam the floor harder. She lets out another scream, raw and urgent, fighting against the silence that tries to bury her alive.
Harry pauses—then she hears it, the break in his voice.
"Grace, you're in there! I hear you!"
The man curses under his breath.
He spins around, no longer grinning, and races to the far end of the room. His footsteps are nearly soundless on the concrete—like a shadow unraveling from the corner of a nightmare. Without a backward glance, he slips through the second door and vanishes into the darkness.
"Just wait! Just wait here!" Harry's voice cracks through the heavy door, raw and urgent, the last thing Grace hears before the sound of his footsteps fades—racing, retreating, disappearing into the unknown.
Then—silence.
A cold, hollow silence, broken only by the slow, mocking drip of water from the ruined phone across the room.
Grace sits frozen, her heart pounding like thunder inside her chest. Each breath scrapes her throat like sandpaper. Her limbs ache from the tension in the ropes, the numbness slowly bleeding into her fingers.
Her mind spins in chaotic circles.
Where is he going? Is he coming back? What if the man return first?
But then—above ground—a car screeches to a sudden halt.
The tires bite into gravel. The door slams open before the engine even dies. Julian jumps out, his shoes hitting the pavement hard as he bolts toward the apartment entrance. His face is pale, his brow glistening with sweat, his eyes dark with fear.
Inside the basement, the doorknob rattles.
A key jams into the lock—once, twice—then it turns with a final, victorious click.
The door swings open.
Light from the hallway spills across the room, piercing the dim space like a sword. Harry bursts in, panting, his eyes wide—wild—searching.
Then he sees her.
His entire body stills.
There, in the middle of the room, Grace sits bound to the chair like a broken doll—arms strapped down, legs twisted under rope, mouth sealed with silver tape. Her eyes—shimmering with tears, with terror, with recognition—meet his.
His breath catches.
"Oh no… Grace…"
Without thinking, Harry rushes forward, crashing to his knees in front of her like a wave hitting the shore. There's no hesitation. No calculation. Just instinct.
He reaches up with shaking hands and gently peels the tape from her mouth, careful not to hurt her more than she already has been. The sound is harsh—ripping and violent—but her gasp of relief is louder.
"Harry…" she chokes out, her voice dry and cracked, barely more than air—but it's the most beautiful sound Harry's ever heard.
He exhales sharply, like he's been holding his breath for hours.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," he murmurs, his voice thick with guilt. "I should've been faster. I should've—"
He doesn't finish. His hands are already moving, frantic but precise, untying the knots at her ankles first. The ropes are tight. Angry red lines snake around her skin. He swears under his breath, faster now, moving to her wrists.
With each pull of the rope, Grace feels her limbs slowly coming back to life, as if her body is waking from a long, terrible dream. And then it happens—
Freedom.
The final rope falls away.
The pain, the fear, the silence—it all crashes into her at once, and Grace lets go. Her shoulders tremble. Tears pour down her cheeks in steady, silent streams.
It's over. She's safe.
Harry doesn't ask. He just opens his arms—and she falls into them, collapsing against his chest as if she might fall apart otherwise.
She sobs into his shirt, her hands fisting the fabric, as if gripping him can keep the world from falling away again.
"I'm so sorry…" Harry whispers, his voice breaking in her hair. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner…"
Grace shakes her head weakly, breath shuddering.
"Thank you… thank you for coming…"
He holds her tighter, like he's trying to absorb every ounce of pain she's endured.
But then—she freezes.
Harry feels her shift, her breath catching. Slowly, Grace lifts her head, her gaze drifting past Harry's shoulder toward the open doorway.
Someone is standing there.
A silhouette against the light. Tall. Still. Familiar.
Julian.
His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven bursts. His shirt clings to him, soaked with sweat. His hair is wild, his eyes wide with something fierce and wordless.
Grace's lips part in disbelief.
"Uh…?"
Harry, sensing the sudden shift in her body, turns around.
Julian stands motionless at the threshold, not speaking, his eyes locked on Grace. The raw storm in his gaze tells her everything—he ran. He ran like hell. He didn't care about pride, or appearances, or titles. He just came.
"Professor Julian…?" Grace's voice floats into the silence, fragile, hoarse, echoing in the damp air of the basement.
Julian just smiles—faintly, almost imperceptibly—and says in a quiet voice, "Are you all right?"
Grace blinks, startled. Her breath catches as her gaze locks onto his. She hadn't even known he was here.
How did he come…?
Her mind is still fogged with the chaos, the adrenaline, the tears—but seeing Julian standing there, steady and calm, is like a new ripple through her already overwhelmed heart.
Slowly, she nods, though confusion clouds her face. "I… I think so," she says, voice trembling.
Harry glances at both of them, then breaks the silence with a soft grin.
"Julian gave me the information about the stalker guy," Harry says. "He figured it out—that the stalker lived in the same apartment building as you. That's how we found you."
Grace stares at Julian, blinking hard. The words hit her like a slow wave. She doesn't quite know what to feel. It's a surprise, yes—but something warmer, deeper—like a hand gently pressing against her heart. He knew. He figured it out. And he came.
Julian offers a small, almost sheepish smile, then looks away.
Awkwardness edges into his features as he turns toward the staircase.
"The police will be here soon," he says, voice low but even. "I'll speak with them when they arrive. Just rest for now. Come up when you're ready."
And with that, he walks away—his steps echoing softly through the narrow basement corridor.
Grace watches him disappear toward the stairs. Her eyes linger on the space where he stood, as if trying to hold onto something fleeting.
"Grace," Harry's voice brings her back, gentle and close. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"
She turns to him slowly, the question pulling her back into the moment. Her muscles ache, her joints scream from the ropes, but her mind is somewhere else—still chasing Julian's fading footsteps.
"I…" she begins, trying to stand. Her legs falter beneath her.
Harry catches her gently, steadying her with careful hands.
"I'm okay," she says quickly, brushing her hair back. "I don't think I need to go to the hospital." Her voice is stronger now, but her heart still races—trailing the invisible thread Julian left behind.
"You sure?" Harry asks, concern written all over his face.
He keeps one hand lightly on her back.
Grace offers a small, tired smile.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Somehow, she thinks, I really am.
Later, they step out into the night air just as the flashing red-and-blue lights of a police car wash over the front of the apartment building. The sound of voices, radios, and heavy boots on pavement fills the air. Grace takes a slow breath as the officers approach.
Julian stands nearby, hands in his coat pockets, watching quietly as Grace begins recounting the events to a detective. She speaks clearly despite her shaken state, giving the details of how she was lured, bound, and trapped. Her voice only trembles when she describes the moment she realized who the stalker was.
Julian remains behind the officers, listening in silence. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes never leave Grace.
Then, with a subtle movement, he steps back and turns toward Harry.
"Harry," he says softly.
Harry glances toward him, stepping slightly aside from the circle.
"Yeah?"
"Please take care of her. I'll get going now."
Harry studies Julian's face for a brief moment.
After a beat, Harry nods.
"Yes. Thank you, Julian."
Julian gives a small nod of acknowledgment, then turns. He walks away with slow, deliberate steps, heading toward the far edge of the lot where his car is parked. The streetlamp casts a faint golden glow over him as he disappears into the shadows, swallowed by the soft hum of the night.
Grace doesn't see him leave.
But she'll remember the way he looked at her—just before he turned away.
And somewhere deep in her heart, something shifts.