The alarm shrieked through Greenridge grounds at 4:12 a.m.
Red strobes blinked across the windows. Doors slammed. Boots pounded the floor.
Stella jolted upright in the attic, heart pounding.
She barely had time to shove on shoes before Greta burst through the door. “South corridor breach. Move!"
Stella grabbed her sweater and ran.
---
In the kitchen hallway, smoke curled under the doors. Screams echoed from the west wing.
Stella spotted the elderly cook, Mrs. Elms, limping toward the exit, clutching her chest.
“Come on!" Stella cried, ducking under the woman's arm.
“I can't—my hip—"
“You don't have to."
Together, they stumbled down the hall as warriors shouted commands around them.
At the stairwell, a shadow moved fast—too fast.
A figure emerged, cloaked in black, claws gleami
