Into the Dark

The warehouse plunged into darkness, the sudden loss of light swallowing every shadow, every breath, every ounce of control.

Elena's pulse spiked, but she didn't move. She listened.

The silence was thick. Heavy. And then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Somewhere above them.

Damian shifted beside her, his presence solid despite the suffocating blackness. "Stay close," he murmured.

Elena smirked, barely a whisper. "Try to keep up."

A flicker of movement. A shadow against the faint slivers of moonlight cutting through the broken windows.

And then—gunfire.

A shot rang out, shattering the quiet. Damian lunged, grabbing Elena's waist, pulling her down behind a stack of rusted crates just as a bullet splintered the ground where she'd stood.

"Guess that answers that," Damian muttered. "Not a warning."

Elena's breathing was steady, her fingers curling tighter around the knife in her grip. "No. It's a game."

Another shot. This one closer.

Damian exhaled sharply. "Then let's remind him what happens when you play with fire."

He moved first. Quick, precise. A blur in the darkness. Elena followed, her body flowing like liquid shadow.

They split apart—two hunters in the night—circling toward their prey.

A creak above. A shape descending.

Elena saw him first.

A figure, dressed in black, dropping from the catwalk.

She didn't hesitate.

Her blade flashed—once, twice. A breath, a heartbeat—then the sickening sound of steel slicing flesh.

The man gasped, stumbling back. Not him. Not the man she feared.

A pawn.

Damian was beside her in an instant, pressing his gun against the injured man's temple. "Where is he?"

The man laughed, a wet, broken sound. "Right where he wants to be."

Elena's stomach twisted.

Another shot rang out.

But this time, it wasn't aimed at them.

A scream echoed from somewhere deep in the warehouse.

Elena's eyes met Damian's.

The real game had just begun.