The return journey through the woods was not a sprint, but a desperate, bone-crushing race against time. Every shadow in the forest seemed to reach out for Gillian as he plunged deeper into the dark, his boots crunching loudly over dried pine needles and decaying foliage. The heavy scent of ozone still clung to his clothes, a bitter reminder of the blast that had decimated the perimeter of Mourning Manor. His lungs screamed for air, the cold night breeze slicing through his coat with icy precision, yet he refused to stop. His mind was a battlefield where duty, survival, and a newfound, fierce protectiveness waged a war that mirrored the chaos he expected to find at home.
Gillian felt the familiar weight of his weapon against his thigh, a cold steel anchor in the storm of his emotions. He
