Heat through ice.
A monster in a collar if someone crosses this threshold.
A vow of breath and bones.
The shadow shifts.
Boot leather whispers closer.
A man crouches at the seam.
And then—
His voice slides through the darkness like pleasure sharpened to silk.
“Found the girl.”
My blood turns to ice.
Every system inside me shuts down.
No cry.No breath.No thought.
Only that voice ringing in my skull like a death bell.
The tunnel holds its breath.
And so do I.
15
Santino
The Voice Outside the Door
“Found the girl.”
The words slide under my skin like a blade dipped in something slow and poisonous.
Not a shout.Not a warning.A statement.
Casual. Certain.
I don’t breathe.I don’t move.I don’t even blink—because something in me knows, down to the marrow-black truth—that if I shift an inch, they’ll sense it.
Predators always do.They smell readiness the way priests smell lies.
Pia’s breath stutters on the other side of the steel door.
Tiny.Fractured.Too fast.
I press my palm flat against the cold metal as if I can transmit command through skin and bone and will alone.
I’m here.I’ve got you.I’m not letting them touch you.
Her breathing hitches like she heard it anyway.
Shadows slide beneath the threshold.Two pairs of shoes.
