The soft rustle of Egyptian cotton brushed against her skin as Annabelle stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open to silence—unfamiliar and unsettling. No gunshots. No screaming. No chaos.
Just... stillness.
She blinked up, and the white-and-silver tones surrounding her made her stomach drop.
Richard’s room.
The realization hit harder than the sharp pain behind her temple. Her fingers pressed against it instinctively.
Then came the flash—the warehouse. The gun. The scream that tore from her throat before the world went black.
Annabelle bolted upright with a gasp, her chest rising and falling in panic.
“You’re awake.”
That deep, cold voice sent a chill racing down her spine.
Richard.
He sat on the edge of an armchair, shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms resting on his knees. His posture lo
