AUTHOR
The quiet comfort of the penthouse felt like a distant memory as Paige and Reomen walked into the living room. The confrontation they had braced for was nothing compared to the sight that greeted them.
Denki stood in the center of the room, looking like a ghost who had clawed his way out of a grave. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes hollow. But it was his clothes that stole the air from the room.
His once-pristine white shirt was a horror show of rust-brown and crimson stains. The blood had dried in ugly, sprawling patches, telling a silent story of violence and panic.
Paige's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Is that... is that blood?" The question was a choked whisper, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes were seeing.
