We moved fast as the sound of gunshots and shouts, began to fade.every breath hurt, after days of stale air and the stench of concrete. I stumbled forward, half leaning on Ethan, half dragged by him.
my legs were killing me.
“Keep moving,” Ethan muttered, voice low and clipped. His hand gripped the back of my neck as if steering me through chaos. Even in my fogged state, I could feel the tremor in his fingers, the tension in every line of his body. He was angry.
My feet barely obeyed him, but I didn’t argue. My body was running on borrowed willpower.
Ethan was scanning the environment like a vulture looking for its next prey. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and I flinched at the sound before I could stop myself.
We reached a row of abandoned shipping containers. Ethan crouch
