9
The storm had arrived without warning. Sheets of rain hammered against the warehouse rooftops, turning the cobblestone streets into rivers of glistening water. The city outside had quieted, leaving only the distant roar of thunder and the sharp hiss of wind slicing through alleyways. Inside the abandoned warehouse district, tension coiled like a living thing.
Adrian crouched behind a stack of crates, eyes darting over the wet, uneven floors. Elena pressed herself against the wall, breath shallow, flashlight in hand, ears straining for any sign of movement. Emma's fragments had led them here, deeper than ever into Vincent's twisted game, yet each step forward seemed heavier than the last.
"This is getting worse," Elena whispered, teeth chattering from both cold and fear. "He's escalating… I can feel it."
Adrian pressed a hand to her shoulder. "We expected escalation. He wants us desperate. That's his game. But we won't give him the satisfaction."
