Nina almost convinced herself to leave—to walk away from this madness before it went too far.
But her body refused to move.
Her legs stayed glued to the ground, her heart beating faster with every tick of the clock.
By the time the bells tolled twelve, her stomach was in knots.
"Nina Peterson?"
The voice startled her.
She turned quickly, her eyes landing on an elderly gentleman in a crisp, tailored suit.
His posture was erect, his expression calm, professional, yet sharp in a way that unsettled her.
"Yes?" Nina replied, her voice uncertain. Her mind raced, trying to place him.
Had she seen him before? Was he a professor? A neighbor?
But no—his presence was far too commanding, too deliberate.
The man gave her a small, polite nod.
"Ross sent me to get you. Please, follow me."
Her throat went dry.
She wanted to ask where Ross was, why he hadn't come himself—but the old man turned on his heel before she could.
