The next day arrived slowly, dragging light into the cracks of the curtains like an uninvited guest. The room smelled faintly of blood and ash. Alex sat in silence, leaning against the cold wall of the storage room, still beside Shadow's lifeless body. His shirt had dried stiff with blood. Sleep had come in fleeting waves—haunted ones. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Shadow's final expression, that twisted mixture of defiance and fear as the dagger pierced his chest.
He stood now, stiff and quiet, peeling himself from the wall like a man breaking free of something invisible.
Outside the room, Ace and Zia were already awake. The living room was dimly lit, Ace munching absently on some dry cereal while Zia scrolled through a tablet, her gaze flicking up every now and then as if expecting an explosion at any moment.
When Alex stepped out, they both paused.
