The sound moved from left to right.
Slow.
Dragging.
Then it stopped.
A low moan came through the door. My eyes squeezed shut. Every muscle in my body pulled taut, vibrating with contained force.
Move on. Follow the sound. Follow the alarm. Just keep walking. Keep walking. Keep—
Lily made a sound behind me. Small. Choked.
I turned my head just enough to find her with my eyes, raising one finger to my lips.
Quiet. Quiet. Please, baby. Quiet.
She clamped both hands over her mouth. Tears spilled over her fingers.
Fiona appeared at my side. She already had the frying pan in hand, its dark metal held low and ready. She must have grabbed it the moment the scraping started. She positioned herself between the door and Lily, her body squared, weight centered—her brother’s training in every line.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us dared to breathe.
The thing outside groaned once more—a long, gargling exhale. The dragging resumed. Left to right. Moving. Following the alarm.
Going.
Going.
Gone.
I let the breath out in a shuddering rush. My knees softened. I braced against the wall to stay upright.
“It’s gone,” Fiona whispered.
Lily dropped her hands from her mouth and sucked in air—ragged, shaking.
“I’m okay,” she gasped. “I’m okay, I’m okay—”
She wasn’t.
None of us were.
But the siren still screamed and Finn still moved somewhere out there in the streets, and the plan still held, and we didn’t have the luxury of falling apart.
I pulled Lily against me. Keep her calm, keep her calm. She buried her face in my shoulder. Her body shook in violent, silent tremors.
“He’s fast,” I told her. My voice came out steadier than I had any right to expect. “He’s smart. He knows what he’s doing.”
Through the wall, a distant crash—glass shattering, followed by a heavy, wet impact. Then growling. Human growling, pitched garbled, like a voice box full of fluid trying to produce sound. A second impact. A crack.
Lily’s fingers dug into my back.
“Don’t listen,” I murmured. “Focus on me.”
