“He took out his own eye.”
Petros froze for half a second.
His brows snapped together.
“What?”
“His eye—” I gestured wildly behind me.
“Blood — everywhere — he just— he just cut it out!”
The words sounded insane even as they left my mouth.
But they were true.
Petros didn’t question me further.
He moved.
Immediately.
He ran past me toward the bedroom, boots pounding against the floor as he disappeared through the double doors.
I stood frozen for a moment.
Then my body gave out.
I slid down the wall slowly until I was sitting on the cold marble floor.
My back pressed against the wall for support.
My breathing came in sharp, uneven bursts.
I looked down at my hands.
They were coated in his blood.
Warm.
Sticky.
Dark red staining my skin and running between my fingers.
His blood.
On me.
I stared at it like it didn’t belong to reality.
Like it was evidence of something irreversible.
My blouse was splattered — soaked near the collar and chest where blood had sprayed when he tore the eye free.
The metallic scent filled my nose.
Thick.
Sickening.
