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She doesn't answer for a moment, and when she does, her voice is devoid of emotion. "It doesn't matter what you think. It's done now. Joining the Hunters was the worst mistake I ever made, and I’m done paying for it. I will be free before the sun rises again." Her eyes are distant, and I can't help but feel a pang of pity for her despite my anger.

She’s so close to losing everything she’s worked hard for just because of this one desperate gamble.

‟You wouldn’t understand. You can’t understand. I was never meant to be a hunter, not like you. Nobody forced me, I was just young and stupid and in love. I thought he loved me as well, so I wanted to be close to him. He was a hunter, so I thought, why not join as well?” She laughs, a small, helpless sound, then shakes her head. ‟I was so stupid. Within a year he cheated on me and we broke up. But you can’t break up with the clan, you can’t simply stop being a hunter. I held out for almost fifteen years, but I can’t anymore. I’d rather be dead than be a Hunter any longer. I want to be free, Gideon. And this is the price of freedom.”

“You’ll never be free. Not from this.” I motion towards the cluttered room with my chin, which is lit by the faint glow from a single bulb hanging precariously above us, splashed with a sickly green hue from the windows. It’s the shine of magic, undeniable, and a very bad sign for what is happening outside.

There is no way anyone watching would mistake this flickering light for a normal gang war. We might as well paint ‘you’re screwed’ on the wall for good measure.

Her eyes grow dark, her smile forced. "You don't get it, do you? No matter what the Hunters did to me, I'm always free to choose. I thought I’d have to die to be free of it all. I found out I don’t, and I won’t let you ruin this for me.” Her words hang heavy in the air.

The chaos outside the room seems to quiet down briefly, and the light dies for a moment, only to roar back with twice the intensity. The factory walls shake from an explosion somewhere outside, and I startle, pulling at my restraints involuntarily. A trickle of blood from my head injury meanders down the side of my face and drops onto my shirt. Somehow, I held out hope that I could change Asha’s mind if we just talked everything through. A small part of me was so sure that I could make her see the light, if I just talked to her. The little voice has gone silent now. There is no way for me to save her. Choice made. She is lost to me, to us, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Even worse, I have to get out of here and help the vampires, and she will not let me go without a fight. She might have dragged me here to keep me alive, thinking—like I thought—that one honest heart-to-heart would change my views and make me see things her way. But now that she knows neither of us will change our minds, she will have to kill me. I have to get away from her before she finds the guts to do it.

I take a furtive glance around the room. The three windows high up are too small for me to squeeze through, especially with my hands cuffed behind my back. If I can get out of the ropes, I could try my luck hiding between the boxes and shelves, but if Asha has enough bullets, she can just shoot up the joint until she hits me.

I press my shoulder blades into the back of the chair, trying to stretch my wrists behind me. I've seen people get out of handcuffs in movies, but I doubt it's as easy in real life. Sweat trickles down the nape of my neck as I wiggle my wrists a bit, trying to shake the cuffs loose. At least this time there is only one person watching me and I can actually try to get out of these things. I can only hope that they're not as tight as they feel.

Asha stands with her arms crossed, leaning against one of the jam-packed shelves, gun in hand. She's watching me, her face unreadable, but it’s like I can hear her thoughts. She’s fighting against her conscience and get herself to shoot me, be done with all of this. I keep my eyes lowered, pretending to be defeated. Maybe if she thinks I've given up, she'll lower her guard.

The battle outside rages on. I hear more gunshots and more explosions. It's getting closer. Suddenly, there's a loud crash from outside the door, followed by a strangled scream. Even Asha flinches. A loud bang rattles the door, stopping my train of thought dead. Asha and I both look at the door, then back at each other.

"Shit," she mutters, taking a step towards the door. The quiet seconds that follow feel heavy, like they're filled with thick liquid instead of air.

The bang comes again, louder this time, and I startle in my chair. This could be my chance to escape… if I can just get out of these cuffs and ropes before whoever's out there gets in. I squirm against the backrest, trying to reach the knot of ropes behind me. Maybe the shackles are too tight, but at least I might manage to rid myself of this damned chair. My fingers brush against it and I suppress a triumphant grin. Asha doesn't notice; she's too focused on the door. I tug on it lightly, testing how tight it is.

There's a loud crunching sound as the door's lock breaks apart. A fierce, sulfur-filled gale sweeps into our little hideout as the door crashes against the shelf in front of it and right through, spewing a blood-dripping vampire into the room. Black and Violet burns run up his ribs and chest, criss-crossed by bullet holes, gashes, and flesh wounds. He looks like a Norse god fallen from the eternal battlefield to lay waste to the mortal world. And he is not a fan of Asha.

The second he sees her, he charges her with a throaty, roaring battle shout. And Asha shoots him twice before he’s halfway through the room. The bullets don’t bring the vampire down, though. He is suddenly gone, moving faster than my eyes can follow, ramming three of the shelves as he flits behind Asha and grabs her gun hand just below the elbow. The falling shelves rattle and clatter, hiding Asha’s pained scream and the wet crack of breaking bones. Not that anyone would pay attention to a person screaming in pain; there are shouts, screams, and death-roars coming from everywhere, chopped up by shots and a firework-like sound. Cultist magic, probably.

The gun falls to the ground as the vampire rears back and chomps down on her neck, fangs dripping with saliva. He misses her jugular by less than an inch, deflected by her fancy metal collar. Doesn’t stop him from tearing out a golf-ball sized chunk of flesh, growling and laughing as Asha shrieks and tries to shake him off.

My first instinct is to help her. Then I think better of it and renew my struggles against the rope. My shoulders scream at me when I finally reach the knot and loosen it enough to slip the rope off and free myself from this devilish chair. And just in time to throw myself to the side, as Asha and the vampire bowl down the path and right through the chair, breaking it into pieces.

Surprisingly, Asha is still alive, although bleeding and severely injured. I throw her a last glance, meet her eyes as she raises a hand pleadingly towards me, and then gets buried under the roaring vampire. I look away and force my legs to move. Makes me feel like a damned coward, but some deep part of me is relieved that I won’t have to kill her. Her blood won’t be on my hands. Not directly.

‟Gideon, please!” she screams as I reach the broken door. Her voice shatters me.

I sprint out of the room.

THE HALLWAY IS a labyrinth of dark, splintered dreams. Up ahead, the flickering lights groan under the weight of the chaos tearing through the building. As I run, the walls seem to pulse with each magic-fueled explosion outside, the very air thick with ash and blood. Somewhere above, a fire alarm claxon begins to wail—a hollow sound that only deepens the pit in my stomach. But there's no time to hesitate.

Cor's image flashes in my mind—those golden eyes filled with panic and determination. It's for him I'm pushing forward now, dodging debris and fallen cultists who litter the pathway like discarded puppets. I have no idea what I expect to do when I reach Cor, what with my hands still being cuffed behind my back, but I will figure it out when I get there. If I’m not too late, I will figure it out and save him.

I burst through another set of doors, finding myself at the mouth of an industrial loading dock. Wrong direction, damn it! The night sky behind the gaping opening is a canvas of swirling reds and blacks, painted by the fires raging around what's left of some forsaken concrete buildings around the factory. The air smells like sulfur and burnt metal—vampires and cultists clashing with whatever dark forces their demon masters gave them. It’s only a matter of time before the fire department arrives, and if the fighting hasn’t stopped by then, well… ‘clusterfuck’ is too mild a word. At least my mark isn’t burning yet. Even the magic knows there isn’t much I can do right now.

I turn around to go back and try another route when something flashes at the end of the smoke-filled hallway. Some reptile instinct makes me twitch to the side, barely dodging the throwing knife flitting out of the twilight. The knife—not much longer than the palm of my hand—hits the metal door and digs into it. Had it hit me, it probably would have buried itself in my chest, up to the hilt.

This dead end hallway makes me a sitting duck. I yell out and charge at whoever threw the knife, leaning forward to use my momentum and my shoulder against whoever tried to kill me, hoping against hope I’ll surprise them. Only there is nobody there, not at eye height. Instead, my feet hit a solid body on the floor and send me careening face-first into the wall. The heap on the ground yells out in pain, its voice as familiar as it is terrifying.

Asha. How the hell is she not dead?

My brain is spinning, but I roll along the wall and use it as a backrest to turn towards her. Blood is gushing from a fresh wound on my forehead, blinding me for a moment until I wipe at it with my shoulder. My brain hurts, but surprisingly, I don’t feel like I have to vomit. I guess I can cross whiplash off my list!

Asha looks like she is on her way to the grave and only held together by her rage. Almost every inch of her naked skin is covered in blood or wounds; her clothing is ripped to shreds, and one of her ears - as well as some of the meat on her jaw - is missing. Deep gashes and craters are all that’s left of that side of her face. The blood flow has slowed to a trickle, spilling out of her in little gushes. Soon it will all be gone. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t save her from this.

She draws another throwing knife, her eyes glassy and unfocused as she still tries to use her last breaths to murder me. I scoot lower and kick out, just as she pulls her arm back to throw it at me. My boot hits her wrist and rams the knife right into her right eye socket. I can’t believe my luck. And for once, I’m not vomiting all over myself at the sight of a gruesome death.