The stairwell felt colder than the rest of the apartment, the chill seeping into Lucy's bones, a physical manifestation of her growing dread. She stood frozen, the candlelight flickering erratically against the walls, casting dancing shadows that morphed into monstrous shapes. Her gaze was fixed on the generator, still humming like a distant, ominous warning, abandoned halfway up the stairs. But Cole, the source of so much chaotic charm and practical genius, was nowhere in sight.
Her heart punched against her ribs, a frantic, desperate drumbeat. "Cole?" she called out, her voice barely a whisper, too small, too fragile in the sudden, cavernous darkness.
Nothing.
No joke, no sarcastic response designed to lighten the mood, no charming deflection. Just the oppressive, all-consuming silence, broken only by the generator's unnerving drone.
