Chapter Eighteen: The Escape
The house shook.
Elena's breath came in ragged gasps as the shadows crawled toward her, spilling from the cracks in the floor like ink. The box burned against her palms, its presence now a living thing.
The woman's grip on her arm was tight. "Elena—NOW!"
Leon moved.
Too fast. Too inhuman.
Elena didn't think—she ran.
Her boots slipped on the wet floor as she tore toward the door, the woman dragging her forward.
Behind her—Leon followed.
"Elena!" His voice rippled through the house, dark and commanding. Not a plea. A warning.
Something in the air shifted.
The storm raged louder, but inside, the shadows were closing in.
Faster.
They swirled around Leon's feet, crawling up the walls like living veins.
Elena's heart hammered. She barely made it to the hallway when—
BANG!
The door to the farmhouse slammed shut before she could reach it.
A gust of wind threw her back, nearly knocking the box from her hands.
"Elena, GO!" the woman shouted.
Elena turned—toward the window.
Without thinking, she lunged.
CRASH!
The glass shattered as she dove through it, shards scraping against her arms, the cold storm consuming her.
She hit the ground hard, rolling in the wet grass. The box was still in her grip, tight as a lifeline.
Lightning flashed—
She saw him.
Leon stood in the broken window, his silhouette unnaturally still. The wind whipped at his coat, but his expression—his eyes—
They were glowing.
"Elena." His voice barely carried over the storm. "Don't run from me."
She ran.
The woman caught up beside her, her breath sharp. "We have to get—"
A snarl ripped through the night.
Elena's stomach dropped.
She didn't dare look back.
She could hear him.
Moving.
Faster than the wind.
Her body screamed in protest, her legs burning as she tore through the drenched fields, gripping the box like a curse she couldn't escape.
The whispers were still there. Growing.
The house behind them faded into the storm. But something told Elena—
Leon wasn't far behind.
And he would never stop chasing her.