Adam stepped through the warped doorway, and the air changed.
It was heavier here, thicker, like the space between heartbeats had slowed. Rain still fell somewhere behind him, but inside this building, it was muted, muffled—as if the sound itself had been swallowed.
The hall was wrong. Too long. The peeling wallpaper repeated in exact patterns every few meters, like a copied image. His boots scuffed over warped boards, each step echoing too loudly in the silence.
A faint shape stirred at the far end.
She emerged from the shadows like a memory made solid—Lena. Hood low, eyes sharp, a faint scar catching what little light leaked in. She didn't hurry, but every step seemed precise, controlled.
"You're late," she said, her voice cutting through the thick air.
Adam swallowed. "Late for what?"
Her gaze slid to the hallway behind him. "They're already inside. Minutes—maybe less."
He felt his pulse kick up. "You're telling me this now?"
Her lips curved faintly—not a smile, not quite a smirk. "I wasn't supposed to tell you at all. But… you've lasted longer than I expected."
He stepped toward her, the boards groaning. "Who are you, really?"
"No time." She tilted her head, listening. "They're here."
From somewhere deep in the building came the sound—boots, moving in an unbroken rhythm. Heavy, determined. Closer.
"Come on."
She grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly warm, and pulled him down a side hall. The air grew colder, the walls tighter. At one turn, Adam glanced back—and his breath caught.
The hallway behind them wasn't the same one they'd come from. It bent in strange angles, the floor sloping like a warped mirror image. Shadows moved there, but not from people—shapes that didn't match their source.
He faced forward again. Lena didn't seem surprised.
They burst into a room where half the ceiling was missing, rain dripping through in uneven beats. Through a narrow window, Adam saw them—female hunters in jagged armor, moving like a tide through the street below.
"They shouldn't be here yet," Lena muttered.
"You knew they were coming."
"I thought I had more time."
A voice broke the air. "You don't."
At the far side of the room, a tall woman stepped from the gloom. Her armor was blackened steel, her hair slicked back, eyes fixed on Adam like he was a rare prize.
"Finally," she said. "The last male."
Adam's chest tightened. "Lena—"
Lena had already moved, blade flashing into her hand. "You're not taking him."
The armored woman's smile deepened. "Try to stop me."
The clash was instant—steel striking steel, sparks throwing wild shadows across the room. Adam backed toward the window, heart hammering as the fight tore the quiet apart.
Then—new boots. Dozens of them, storming up the stairs.
Lena's eyes flicked to Adam. "Go!"
He hesitated. She shoved the armored woman back, forcing her into a broken support beam, then yanked Adam toward a narrow side door.
He stumbled through, but before he could turn, the door slammed shut.
The last thing he saw was Lena's silhouette—blade raised, hunters closing in—before the wall beside him exploded inward in a rain of splinters.
From the dust emerged a figure too fast to track—something with eyes that burned unnaturally bright, lips pulling back to reveal jagged teeth.
It lunged.