The Breach

The wall didn't just shake. It exploded.

It sounded like a car crash. Drywall dust plumed into the air as a massive shape smashed through the partition between the two apartments. Bram didn't use a door; he came through the studs and plaster like a battering ram.

Marcus spun around, the tire iron wavering. "What the—"

Bram roared. It was a primal, animalistic sound that shook the floorboards. He launched himself across the room, tackling Marcus with the force of a freight train.

The two men crashed into Elena’s drafting table, splintering wood and sending pencils flying like shrapnel.

Marcus was younger, faster, fueled by drunk adrenaline. He swung the tire iron, connecting with a sickening *thud* against Bram’s shoulder.

Bram didn't even grunt. He grabbed Marcus by the collar of his jacket and hurled him across the room. Marcus slammed into the wall and slid down, dazed.

Bram stood panting in the center of the room. In the violence of the fight, his hood had been ripped back.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and Elena gasped.

Bram’s face was a ruin. The right side was melted, the skin tight and shiny, the ear gone, the eye pulled into a permanent squint. It wasn't the face of a criminal. It was the face of a survivor. Burn scars. Massive, old, and terrible.

He wasn't hiding because he was dangerous. He was hiding for the same reason she was.

Marcus groaned, trying to stand up, raising the iron again.

Bram stepped forward, looming over him. He didn't strike. He just stood there, a gargantuan, scarred shield between Elena and the threat. He pointed a shaking finger at the hole in the wall.

"Get. Out."

The voice was low, terrifying, and absolute.

Marcus looked at Bram, then at Elena, then at the tire iron. The fight drained out of him, replaced by self-preservation. He dropped the weapon and scrambled for the broken back door, vanishing into the rain.

Bram swayed. He reached up, clutching his shoulder where the iron had hit. He turned to look at Elena. He tried to pull his hood back up, to hide his face, but his arm wouldn't cooperate.

"Are you okay?" he rasped, staring at the floor, ashamed to be seen.

Elena pushed herself up. She walked toward him. She didn't look at the hole in the wall. She looked at him.