Chapter 3: An Unwelcome Neighbor

Sunday morning arrived with the screech of power tools and the rhythmic pounding of a hammer. Elara jolted awake at 6:47 AM, her peaceful weekend destroyed by the sound of construction coming from next door.

She stumbled to her bedroom window, squinting through the gauze curtains at the scene unfolding in Caleb's backyard. He was crouched beside what looked like a pile of lumber and hardware, wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt already damp with sweat despite the early hour.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, grabbing her robe. The city had noise ordinances for a reason, and 6:47 AM on a Sunday definitely violated them.

By the time she'd dressed and marched outside, Caleb had assembled what appeared to be some kind of reinforced fence panel. The delicate lattice work that had originally separated their properties lay in a discarded heap, replaced by something that looked more suited to a military compound than a charming Victorian neighborhood.

"Excuse me," she called out, her voice sharp with irritation.

Caleb looked up from his work, a drill still spinning in his hand. His hair was mussed, and there was a smudge of dirt across his cheekbone that made him look younger, more like the man she'd once known.

"Morning, Ellie."

"It's not even seven AM," she said, crossing her arms. "Some of us were trying to sleep."

"Sorry. I'm an early riser." He didn't sound particularly apologetic as he turned back to his fence.

Elara stepped closer, studying the structure he was building. The new fence was at least two feet taller than the original, made of heavy wood panels with metal reinforcement brackets. More importantly, it completely blocked the view between their properties—and looked completely out of place in the carefully designed neighborhood aesthetic.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"A fence."

"This is not a fence. This is a fortification." She gestured at the imposing structure. "Do you realize we have neighborhood association guidelines? Historical preservation standards? You can't just build whatever you want."

Caleb straightened slowly, the drill lowering to his side. "I can build whatever I need to keep my property secure."

"Secure from what? Mrs. Patterson's award-winning roses? The occasional stray cat?"

His gray eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made her take an involuntary step backward. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"This fantasy you've built." He gestured broadly, taking in the restored Victorian houses, the neat sidewalks, the carefully planted flower boxes. "This picture-perfect neighborhood where everyone's safe and happy and nothing bad ever happens."

Heat flooded Elara's cheeks. "It's not a fantasy. Look at the crime statistics—"

"I've looked at more than statistics." Caleb's voice carried an edge of frustration. "I've looked at police reports, threat assessments, gang territory maps. Do you know what the Vega brothers said when we arrested them?"

Elara shook her head, not trusting her voice.

"They said they'd be back. That they'd make everyone who helped put them away pay." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper. "And they specifically mentioned the 'pretty little city planner who thinks she can play in their sandbox.'"

The words hit her like ice water. "You're lying."

"I wish I was."

For a moment, the only sound between them was the distant hum of morning traffic and the chirping of birds in Mrs. Chen's oak tree. Elara stared at Caleb, searching his face for any sign of deception, but found only grim certainty.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" she asked finally.

"Because you would have done exactly what you're doing now—dismissed it as paranoia and kept living like you're invincible."

"I'm not—"

"You are." His voice gentled slightly, taking on a tone she remembered from their quieter moments together. "It's one of the things I always loved about you. Your absolute faith that good will triumph over evil, that people are fundamentally decent, that the world can be fixed with enough determination and elbow grease."

The past tense of "loved" hit her like a physical blow, but she pushed the pain aside. "And you think that's naive."

"I think it's dangerous."

Before she could respond, the sound of squealing tires cut through the morning air. A black sedan had turned onto Maple Street too fast, its engine revving as it accelerated down the normally quiet residential road.

Caleb reacted before Elara even processed the threat. One moment they were standing three feet apart, arguing about fence aesthetics; the next, his arm was around her waist, pulling her behind the solid bulk of his half-built fortification as the sedan's passenger window rolled down.

"Get down," he ordered, his voice carrying the kind of authority that demanded immediate obedience.

Elara found herself pressed against the rough wood of his fence, Caleb's body shielding hers as the sedan slowed to a crawl in front of her house. Through the gaps in the fence boards, she could see two figures in the front seat, their faces obscured by the car's tinted windows.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as understanding crashed over her. This wasn't random. This wasn't some teenagers joyriding through the neighborhood. These people were looking for something.

Or someone.

The sedan idled for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds. Then the engine revved again, and the car disappeared around the corner, leaving behind only the acrid smell of burned rubber and the sound of Elara's ragged breathing.

Caleb didn't move away immediately. His arm remained around her waist, solid and protective, while his eyes scanned the street with professional thoroughness. She could feel the tension in his body, coiled and ready for action, and suddenly understood that this was who he really was—not the charming man who'd taken her to art galleries and helped her pick out paint colors, but someone forged by violence and trained to expect the worst.

"Are they gone?" she whispered.

"For now." He finally stepped back, but his hand remained on her arm. "Are you okay?"

Elara nodded, not trusting her voice. Her legs felt shaky, and there was a metallic taste in her mouth that she recognized as fear.

"Who were they?"

"Could be anyone. Vega associates, random gang members testing the territory, or just coincidence." His tone suggested he didn't believe the last option. "The point is, you can't tell the difference until it's too late."

She stared at him, really seeing him for the first time since he'd walked back into her life. The scars, the tattoos, the way he moved like violence was always a possibility—all of it painted a picture of a man who lived in a world she'd never imagined.

"How do you stand it?" she asked. "Living like everyone's a threat?"

Something softened in his expression. "You learn to adapt. To read situations, trust your instincts, always have an exit plan." He glanced at her house, taking in the large windows, the decorative porch, the cheerful yellow door she'd painted last spring. "Your house is beautiful, Ellie. But it's not defensible."

"Defensible?" The word felt foreign on her tongue.

"Multiple entry points, no security system worth mentioning, too many sight lines from the street." He spoke like he was cataloging tactical weaknesses rather than discussing her beloved home. "If someone wanted to get to you, they could do it in about thirty seconds."

The casual assessment made her stomach lurch. "You're being paranoid."

"Am I?" He nodded toward the corner where the sedan had disappeared. "Because that felt pretty real to me."

Elara wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warming morning air. The peaceful Sunday she'd planned—coffee on the porch, working in her garden, maybe driving to the antique market in search of vintage door hardware—seemed like a fantasy now.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked. "Turn my house into a fortress like yours? Stop believing in the work I've done here?"

"I'm supposed to keep you safe."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, raw and unguarded. For a moment, the mask he wore slipped completely, revealing the man she'd once known—the one who'd held her during thunderstorms and made her laugh until her sides ached.

"Why?" she whispered. "You left, remember? You made your choice."

Pain flickered across his features. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about what happens to you."

The admission hung between them, loaded with five years of unspoken history. Around them, the neighborhood continued its peaceful Sunday morning routine—Mrs. Chen watering her flowers, the Pattersons walking their ancient golden retriever, the sound of a lawn mower starting up somewhere down the street.

Normal life, continuing as if Elara's world hadn't just shifted on its axis.

"I need to go inside," she said finally.

Caleb nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. But as she reached her front porch, his voice stopped her.

"Ellie."

She turned back, hating the way her heart leaped at the sound of her nickname on his lips.

"The offer stands," he said quietly. "New locks, better security system, reinforced entry points. I know people who can do the work without compromising the historical integrity."

Part of her wanted to refuse on principle, to maintain the independence she'd fought so hard to build. But the memory of that black sedan, of the way Caleb had moved to protect her without hesitation, made the words stick in her throat.

"I'll think about it," she managed.

As she closed her front door behind her, Elara caught a glimpse of Caleb returning to his fence construction, his movements precise and methodical. The sound of his hammer resumed, no longer seeming like an intrusion but like something else entirely.

Like the sound of someone building walls to keep the darkness out.