But the light doesn’t reach further than the first row of shelves. The shelves are mostly empty. Padded with dust, most of the medication gone.
Looted already.
But I can’t turn around, not without certainty.
I shift forward, my hand coming down flat on the linoleum floor.
Then a sharp breath spears through me.
The breeze rustles like a winter chill, prickling the hair on the back of my neck—and I freeze.
Something feels off.
I throw my gaze around the darkness beyond the counter, but nothing is moving back there, no shadows lurking.
I feel something—but what, I don’t know.
Just something off enough to prickle my flesh and send a surge of panic through me.
I lift my chin and the torchlight with it.
The strips of fluorescent lightbulbs stroke across the ceiling.
I drag the light down the wall, where a shelf is toppled over, leaning on another that is bolted to the floor.
No one is there.
But then the air shifts around me, the faintest brush of movement—
I swerve around so fast that I fall onto my ass. The impact jolts pain up my spine.
But not a sound escapes me.
Not a breath, not a grunt, not a shout.
Because a hand is suddenly firm against my mouth, silencing me.
My eyelids spring open.
The fright has me rigid on the floor, frozen, and seconds pass before I realise what I’m staring at.
A set of familiar green eyes.
Samick is crouched right in front of me, his cold hand gripping my jaw, palm flat against my mouth to stop my shout.
Not Rust.
Not a stranger.
Samick.
I choke on a muffled cry.
Tears flood my eyes quicker than he snuck up on me, and for a beat, he just frowns at me.
Like I’m some sort of messy puzzle to be analysed.
My chest jolts with a second hard breath that feels as comfortable as a hiccup.
