Syn's heart pounded like a snare drum, his bloodied face a mask of terror and disbelief, his hazel eyes wide, locked on the woman who'd stepped aboard—Ila, impossibly alive, her black hair gleaming, her teal eyes glinting with a cruel, amused malice.
Her olive military uniform was pristine, her boots clicking on the metal floor, her presence a nightmare reborn.
"Ila!!?" Syn yelped, his voice raw with fear, his body reacting before his mind could catch up, lunging backward, scrambling to the far end of the car, as far from her as the confined space allowed, his back slamming against the cold wall, his breath ragged, his hands trembling.
How the fuck is she alive?
The question screamed in his mind, a frantic loop.
Is she even the same Ila?
What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fucking Fuck!!!
His thoughts spiraled, his chest heaving, his bloodied uniform sticking to his skin, the scent of sweat and someone else's cologne mingling with the metallic tang of his own blood.
