The Chosen Victim

MR. JEON WAS ON OUR FLOOR.

Our. Freaking. Floor.

My soul nearly left my body.

With the reflexes of a caffeinated meerkat, I jolted upright and started pretending like I was the most hardworking employee in the entire galaxy. Typing like I just finished 499 out of 500 files, when in reality… I was still stuck on file number eight and a half.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My ears twitched.

That sound.

That terrifying, goosebump-inducing sound.

The sound of Louboutin shoes.

The devil's heels.

The apocalypse soundtrack.

My fingers were flying across the keyboard like I had just hacked into NASA's mainframe.

I started typing at the speed of light—no idea what I was typing. Could've been the lyrics of boy with luv for all I knew. It didn't matter. I just needed to look employed.

Because those footsteps weren't just footsteps.

They're the devil's call.

And they stopped…