"If you make a sound I'll—" Andreas's voice cut the hallway air like a blade. "Who are you?" Silvia's whisper bounced off the lobby tiles. Her keys clicked in her fist. "Do you want me to answer that while the man behind me finishes what he started?" He shoved her against the wall, one hand pressing at her jawline to tilt her face. His other arm hooked a coat across his middle, blood dark on fabric. Silvia's feet slid. "There's no one behind you," she said too loudly. She turned her head. A body slumped in the doorway, breathing ragged, face pale under a cheap knit hat. "Andreas." He didn't expect her to know the name, only that she'd freeze. He kept his voice flat. "Phone. Now." "My phone?" She fumbled for her bag. "Please—" "Hand it over. Lock it. Pocket it." He barked the commands like orders from work, not like a stranger begging. She handed it. Her fingers refused to be steady. He took it, thumbed the screen, and ripped a SIM tray open like it was routine. "Don't call anyone. Don't text. Delete everything marked Work. Delete names I say." He didn't look at her while he spoke. His words were short and practiced. "Who are you?" she repeated. "You're hurt. We need an ambulance." "No hospital." He clamped his eyes on her then. "Listen. Help me, not them. Now." His jaw flexed. "Towels. The kitchen