The night had a strange kind of stillness—too still, too heavy.
I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears as I walked through the narrow hallway of the inn, holding my breath without realizing it. The floorboards creaked under my weight, and the single bulb above me flickered weakly, like it, too, was afraid to stay awake.
Something was wrong. I could feel it—not see it, not hear it, just feel it—a prickle running down my spine, the sense that eyes I couldn't see were watching me from somewhere in the dark.
I tightened my grip on the gun Rafael had left me. It felt heavier than usual, colder. The air tasted faintly of metal and dust.
Rafael had gone out hours ago—said he needed to check on something by the docks. He promised he'd be back before midnight. It was now well past three in the morning.
And I was alone.
