The guard spun on his heel, sprinting back down the corridor and into the walkway that led to the elevator. Ahead, Amanda and the other nurse were jabbing the elevator call button with frantic urgency, the metallic clatter of the mechanism finally answering their desperation.
The guard held position, gun raised, covering their retreat. Under the stuttering flicker of the ceiling lights, something shifted at the far end of the hall. A smear of shadow—no, smoke—began to curl into the corridor, drifting forward with slow, deliberate purpose. In less than two minutes, it had reached the center of the entrance, as if it had always belonged there.
"Come on, get in!" the other nurse's voice cracked from inside the elevator.
He fired—once, twice, again—each shot tearing through the smoke. The bullets passed without resistance, swallowed whole, leaving the thing untouched.
Amanda's breath caught. The sketch. Grace's voice. She had been telling the truth.
"Grace is still in her room!" Amanda's voice broke, panic flaring in her chest.
"Either save one girl or save everyone else!" the other nurse shouted back. "You're not getting out of that room alive!"
Amanda froze, torn between the doorway and the corridor, until the nurse's voice cut through again, sharp and final. "If you're going to choose, do it now. She's a lost cause anyway!"
The guard didn't look at her, just muttered, "She's right."
Amanda swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision crush her. Then she stepped inside the elevator. The doors slid shut, sealing the choice. In their minds, Grace was already gone.
But she wasn't.
In her room, the little girl still sat trembling.
A deafening blast shook the floor. Two rooms down, the walls caved inward, crashing into the level below.
She swayed, whispering to herself, "Amanda will come back. Amanda will come back." But the minutes dragged on, and the door stayed shut.
Then, cold air brushed against her cheek, lifting strands of her hair. Something had entered.
She didn't need to see it to know.
Her eyes darted to the wheelchair. If she could just reach it… run… escape. But her gaze locked on the steel cuff bit her wrist, her legs dead weight beneath her—chains within chains.
The wind grew colder.
And it was no longer just wind.
Grace closed her eyes, drawing in a long, trembling breath. The truth settled in her chest like a stone—no one was coming back.
A sudden chill swept over her scalp, as though something vast had passed just inches above her. Her eyes snapped open.
It was there—a great mass of black smoke, shifting and curling as it hovered above her bed. It didn't move like mist; it moved like something alive.
The shape drifted back a step.
"Please… don't leave me," she whispered, her voice breaking into a plea. "I'm alone here. I don't want you to go." There was no fear in her—none at all.
After the pull, smoke surged forward in a violent rush. Grace's head snapped back as it struck, the cold sliding *through* her—like being swallowed whole and spat out again.
But what she felt was just a jolt of energy, as if she was shaken by something, but only closed her eyes for a moment.
Then she noticed her hand was free, the cuffs hung locked on the frame still, and her wrist was free. She twisted her hand to shake off the stiffness.
Her eyes darted to the wheelchair. She reached out… but it was too far.
Then it happened.
A strange prickling sensation bloomed in her feet. She froze, staring, barely daring to breathe. Slowly, she willed her right leg to move—
And it did.
Her chest tightened in shock. For the first time in her life, her legs had obeyed her.
She swung herself off the bed. Her knees buckled instantly, and she hit the floor hard. But she didn't stop. Pressing her palms to the wall, she dragged herself upright, every step a battle, every breath sharp with disbelief.
One slow step. Another.
Her hand found the doorknob. She twisted.
The door creaked open into a long, empty walkway. Broken lights flickered overhead, stuttering shadows across the walls. Tables lay overturned, wheels squealing faintly as they rocked in the silence.
The hallway ahead raised goosebumps all over her body, like she'd stepped into a place that wasn't meant to be seen by the living.
Grace staggered forward, each step clumsy and unsteady. Her legs felt foreign—newborn things that barely obeyed her—but still, she moved. The rooms beside her room were gone! So she reached the fourth room, and with trembling fingers, she turned the handle.
The room beyond was empty.
Yet the moment she stepped inside, her vision fractured. Flashes—sharp and disjointed—stabbed into her mind. A man, thrashing and screaming, was dragged toward the window. His fingers clawed at the frame before his body was wrenched into the darkness beyond.
She gasped and stumbled back, slamming the door shut.
"Amanda?" Her voice cracked. Silence answered her. From somewhere distant, the faint, frantic *click click click* of an elevator button being pressed over and over reached her ears. She didn't dare go toward it.
Her gaze swept the corridor. Every corner of the hospital seemed swallowed by a suffocating black, the flicker of failing lights casting shapes that lingered too long in the shadows. Fear pressed in from all sides. She backed into the wall, slid down, and folded her knees to her chest.
"I told you not to leave me," she whispered, her voice trembling.
And then—an answer.
"I didn't leave you… Can't you see? You can walk."
The voice was soft, almost tender, and unmistakably that of a young boy. Grace's head snapped up, but the hallway was empty. The whisper felt impossibly close, brushing her ear.
"Are you the boy?" she asked, her voice barely more than breath. "The one whose blood is in my veins?"
Silence, then a pulse of warmth in the air.
"Thank you for helping me," she said, her small hands wiping at her wet cheeks. "Thank you for donating blood to me."
Her voice broke on the last words. She lowered her head again, speaking into the shadows.
"No matter what happens… please… don't leave me alone."