The evening's peace shattered with a sudden, sharp knock at the door. It wasn't a casual, neighborly tap—it was demanding, impatient, and slightly unnerving. Karl froze mid-motion, his hand still holding the metal rod he'd been using to stoke the fire. Layla and Jane exchanged quick, uneasy glances, their relaxed postures stiffening instantly.
The three of them moved in sync, their silence instinctive. Jane reached for the knife she always kept nearby, her fingers tightening around its hilt. Layla, on the other hand, shifted closer to Karl, her expression questioning but cautious.
Another knock. Louder this time. Followed by an irritated voice.
"I know you're in there, Karl," came a woman's sharp tone from the other side. "Open the door."