The silence that followed Damien’s command wasn't empty; it was pressurized. It felt like the air inside the cabin had been sucked out, replaced by a vacuum of dread. Outside, the line of men—dozens of them, all wearing the same leather jacket, the same boots, the same jagged scar—didn't charge. They didn't shout. They simply stood in the snow, a row of identical tombstones reflecting the moonlight.
"Don't look into their eyes," Damien whispered again, his voice tight, barely registering as human.
He was pressed against the wall beside the front door, his pistol barrel leveled at a gap in the barricade. "That is the tether. They don't just see you; they scan you. Every second you hold their gaze, they strip away a layer of your consciousness. They’re searching for the memories you hold
