After hours of putting him in his place, my body feels heavy and loose in a good way. Muscles pleasantly sore. Heart weirdly light. With how hard and heavy I was going for hours, that’s a nice surprise.
I run a hand through my hair and move toward the door.
The room’s dim. Only the low emergency strips along the floor are lit this late at night. It’s pretty quiet too, except for the constant drone of engines.
I’m halfway out the sliding open door when I hear it.
A sound. It’s light at first. A dull, short thud from somewhere out in the corridor.
I stop and listen carefully. The other usual noises of the ship keep going. Air vents. Distant pipes. Someone’s voice a few rooms away.
Then it comes again.
Thud. Heavier this time. Followed by a faint scrape. Then silence. It sits wrong in my ears.
I stand still. Maybe it’s nothing. Kys has been messing with everyone’s head. Idris and Em said heightened sensitivity might happen. Sound, smell, touch. Old fear patterns waking up, new ones forming.
I tell myself that’s it. A mistake in my senses. My brain turning normal ship noise into something it isn’t.
Thud. Sounds like something heavy met metal. Then that scrape again. Dragging along the floor or the wall.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I go out into the corridor. It’s cold, empty. Most people are in their quarters by now. Security patrols are light. We’re in a ship. There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to go.
Thud. Followed by a low, breathy noise. Like someone exhaling hard through their teeth.
Every muscle in my body tightens.
This could be nothing. This could be Kys. But my instincts have opinions drugs can’t override. So I head down the corridor where the sound’s coming from.
My feet move fast. And now that I’m closer to the sound, it cuts through me clearer.
The sharp, mechanical jerk of a sliding door trying to close and failing.
Whirr. Thunk.
I round the corner.
At first, it’s just another door at the end of the hall. But the sensor light above it blinks red. The metal keeps twitching like it’s trying to shut and something won’t let it.
My steps slow.
There’s something sticking out at the bottom of the door.
A shoe.
I get closer, and my skin goes cold.
The shoe isn’t just wedged under the door. It’s attached to a foot.
The automatic panel tries to close. The metal grinds into the shoe, bites into skin and bone where the ankle meets the frame. It snaps back open, only to try again. Each time it makes contact, the body jerks.
Whirr. Thunk.
It takes my brain too long to realize that there’s a subtle wet sound…and it’s fromflesh.
“Shit,” I whisper, the sound of my voice uneven to my own ears.
I move. The sensor fights me at first. The door keeps trying to cycle. I plant my feet, grab the edge, and shove.
