THE BREAKING POINT

Once more, the wood creaked under the force of the door's violent rattle. I clutched the rusting crowbar in my shaking hands and moved myself closer to Ethan, my chest constricted. His respiration was regular but shallow, and he was still unconscious.

Marcus was standing close to the entrance, his knife ready and positioned, his gaze fixed on the dim shadows that flickered beneath the threshold. The silky, mocking voice of the successor echoed once more, chilling me with every word.

His voice was almost conversational as he called, "Olivia, you've done well to last this long." But do you not see? You're delaying what will happen.

Marcus gave me a glare. "Remain silent," he said in a barely discernible whisper.

The ensuing hush was oppressive. The woodland beyond seemed eerily still, but I strained to hear any sound—footsteps, movement, anything. The globe seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of the impending storm.