Thick streaks. Hot and slow. Sliding down his face until it paints his grin red. He lifts a trembling hand, swipes under one eye, stares at his palm like he doesn’t recognize it.
Then his chest starts heaving. Sharp. Wrong.
“No,” he rasps. His voice breaks into something guttural. He scrubs at his face, smearing red across his skin. “No, no, no…”
The gurgle turns to sobs. He slams his fist down on the desk, smearing blood across the paper, then the walls, his tie, anything his hands can touch. His voice cracks loudly now, echoing.
“YOU LET ME DIE!”
He lunges up, reaching across the desk toward me, fingers slick, leaving streaks in the air.
I stumble to my feet. My breath claws up my throat. I bolt.
The office stretches wrong as I run. Walls bend, hallways blur. My lungs are burning, my legs won’t stop, until suddenly—
I’m not in the bank anymore.
I’m outside. Empty asphalt under my feet. Streetlights buzzing, all but one flickering out until only shadows remain. And there—across the lot—is a figure.
Tall. Broad. Still.
Anton.
It has to be him.
My chest breaks open with relief. I run. Faster, faster, legs pumping like they finally remember how.
“Anton!”
But as the light hits the figure, the face shifts. Too smooth. Too stretched.
Evan.
His smile is jagged, his skin pale and slick like wax. His eyes glow, hollow pits lit from inside.
“No—” My voice cuts. I skid back, but his arm shoots out, fast, iron-strong.
He grabs me. Fists in my hair. Yanks my head back until my neck screams.
“You thought you could leave me?” His voice warps, two tones at once—Evan’s voice, but darker, warped with static. “You thought you could tell me no?”
“Let go!” I claw at him, nails tearing skin that peels too easily, like wet paper. He laughs. Presses his weight into me, shoving me down into the ground. Asphalt tears my elbows raw.
“You’re mine.” His breath is hot and rotten against my ear. “Always were. Always will be.”
I thrash. Kick. My scream shreds out of my chest. “ANTON!”
And then he’s there.
Anton slams into him, fist cracking across Evan’s face with a sound that vibrates in my ribs. Evan reels back, blood spraying from his mouth, but he’s still laughing.
Anton plants himself between us, solid, unmovable. He’s breathing hard, green eyes cutting through the dark.
“Stay behind me,” he snaps.
Evan’s grin splits wider. His hand jerks up, and suddenly there’s a knife. Rusted. Long. He lunges.
“Anton!” I scream.
