I hear a wet, tearing scream, like someone’s throat being ripped open mid-breath.
I’m already running. Bare feet slap against the cold stone, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs open without shoes or preparation. Just panic is driving me forward.
Yes, I'm a dead woman now.
Architects.
I slam Tabitha’s door open so hard it ricochets off the wall.
She’s caught between two men in black, respirators hiding their faces as they drag her toward a shattered window. Glass covers the floor, glittering like teeth. One of them presses a thick syringe into her neck, milky liquid catching the moonlight.
God—how the hell would I ever tell her parents she was taken on my watch?
“Get the f**k off her!”
I don’t think. I grab the brass lamp from the nightstand and swing.
