Obey: 12. The First Strike

The night was heavy with rain, a low, persistent drizzle that made the streets slick and shiny under the dim glow of streetlights. Clara clutched her coat tighter around her, every sense alert. Marcus had insisted she stay close to the building, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Her phone vibrated—no number, no words. Just a symbol, a black triangle she didn’t recognize.

Her stomach twisted. They’re close.

Inside the loft, Marcus was reviewing the feeds from the external cameras, his jaw tight, every muscle taut.

“They’re out there,” he said without looking up. “Waiting for a misstep.”

Clara’s fingers trembled. “Can they… get in?”

He finally looked at her, eyes dark and commanding. “Not if we don’t let them. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.”

She swallowed hard. Her pulse raced, but beneath it, a current of anticipation coiled in her gut. Danger and desire had become inseparable in the past days, and even now, as the storm outside mirrored