Athanasios

It had been raining since late afternoon. An unrelenting downpour that softened the red earth and turned the gum trees silver. Athan barely noticed it. He had risen with the dusk, as he always did, and dressed without urgency—shirt sleeves buttoned, hair tied back, movements smooth and practised. The silence of the house was familiar, almost sacred. Until it wasn't. The knock was not a knock. It was pounding. Desperate, insistent. Stupid.

He stilled mid-movement, fingers pausing at the last button of his cuff. For one brief moment, he hoped it was a trick of the wind, a tree limb snapping in protest against the rain. But then it came again, a fist against wood. Too loud. Too purposeful. Too real.

He was down the stairs in an instant, preternaturally fast and soundless. He moved with one purpose: to reach the door before they did. The last thing he needed was Mack throwing open the door shirtless and already halfway through a filthy joke, or worse, Ranaaz whispering through the keyhole in that cursed voice of his. Athan didn't have the patience for damage control tonight. Whoever was on the porch had already made a mistake by finding the house. He didn't need it compounded.

He reached the front door and opened it in one smooth, silent motion. A figure stood there, soaked through and dripping, framed by the grey wash of rain and the flicker of lightning beyond the trees. The veranda light overhead gave no warmth, but it cast enough glow for him to take in the essentials: unfamiliar, alone, alive. Uninvited.

Behind them, barely visible through the sheets of rain, Kuparr loomed at the edge of the treeline, coiled with tension. Athan didn't need to guess. The look Kuparr gave this stranger was enough—hostile, territorial, unmistakable. Wonderful. The snake is still awake and in a foul mood.

Athan's gaze returned to the stranger. He said nothing at first, simply stared, letting the moment stretch. His presence filled the doorway. Not threatening, not yet, but undeniably dangerous. His eyes, dark as dried blood, gave nothing away. Then, finally, he spoke.

"... You're not supposed to be here." His voice was low and even. A deep baritone that didn't rise, didn't rush, just carried, heavy with certainty. There was no warmth in it. No cruelty either. Simply fact.

He paused, looking the stranger over again, this time more carefully. Soaked. Possibly lost. But they hadn't run. They hadn't screamed. At least, not yet. He let out a breath through his nose. Subtle. Almost a sigh. He would regret this.

"You have one chance to explain yourself." He said at last. "Use it wisely."

He stepped back just enough to allow them through, already regretting the decision, already bracing for the ripple this stranger's presence would send through the house. But still, he did not close the door.