The ruined theater, once filled with moans and screams of pleasure, fell silent—until the voice of a stranger cut through the dark.
The crimson flames that licked faintly around her hands dimmed to embers, then flared again as if feeding on the tension in the air. She no longer looked like the broken masochist begging for Kael’s c**k minutes ago—she looked like the Witch whispered of in hushed voices across the wastelands.
The creak of the old theater door echoed again, sharp, deliberate, not the dragging stumble of a walker. A shadow stretched across the scorched floor as the door eased open wider.
Kael’s body went taut. He stayed crouched low, blade angled, his eyes narrowing like a predator watching prey. His voice cut the silence, rough and commanding. "Show yourself. Slow."
For a
