Chapter 10
MORGAN
The dimness in the room had deepened into full night by now, the weak light from the cracks in the boarded window long since swallowed by the darkness outside, leaving me with nothing but the faint glow from that battery lantern he'd left flickering in the corner.
I'd turned it on hours ago, when the shadows started closing in too tight, its pale beam casting harsh angles across the concrete and making the mold spots on the walls look like creeping stains.
My stomach had gone from growling to a dull, gnawing ache, the kind that came from too long without food.
How much time had passed since I sat on the cot, staring at that shimmering distortion over the doorway?
It felt like an eternity, the silence stretching out unbroken except for the occasional creak of the building settling, or the distant patter of rain starting up again on the roof, muffled and relentless.
He'd been gone far longer than I expected, long enough that the initial spark of hope had curdled into something edgier, a gnawing worry that twisted in my chest. What if he really wasn't coming back?
The thought brought a strange feeling of dread, because as much as I wanted him gone for good, being trapped here alone in this forgotten corner of the city meant no one to let me out.
I could starve in this room, my shouts echoing uselessly into the empty warehouse, until dehydration or exhaustion took me.
I paced again, my legs stiff from sitting too long, the cold seeping up through the floor and into my bones.
The air smelled heavier now, thick with decay, like the warehouse was exhaling its rot into the room.
I caught myself listening for sounds beyond the door, straining for footsteps or the scrape of that bolt being pulled back.
But there was nothing.
Just the rain picking up, drumming steadily overhead, amplifying the isolation until it pressed down on me like a physical weight. I sank back onto the cot, pulling the thin blanket around my shoulders against the chill, my mind circling the same questions that had plagued me all day.
Where was he? What could keep him out this long, especially with the state he'd been in when he left, all trembling hands and haunted eyes, muttering to himself like he was arguing with ghosts?
The killings flashed through my head, the news reports I'd scrolled through back in my apartment.
If he was gone… his absence could mean he was out there right now, feeding that darkness inside him, adding to the count while I sat here powerless.
The thought sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold, because if he came back sated, calmer, what would that mean for me?
Or if he didn't come back at all, how long before I started screaming into the void, hoping some passerby in the industrial district might hear?
The rain intensified, pounding now like fists on the roof, drowning out my thoughts and making the room feel even smaller, more cut off from the world.
I hugged my knees to my chest, the glass shard in my pocket a small comfort, its wrapped edges pressing against my thigh as I rocked slightly, trying to ward off the creeping sense that this was it, the end of the line in a place no one would ever look.
Then, without warning, the door exploded inward with a deafening crash, the bolt shearing off like it was nothing, wood splintering as the frame buckled under the force of whatever slammed into it from the other side.
I jolted upright, heart slamming into my ribs, the blanket falling away as terror flooded me in an instant, raw and electric, freezing me for a split second before instinct kicked in.
He staggered through the wreckage, or what was left of him, his tall frame lurching into the room like a storm breaking loose, rain-slicked and wild, his coat hanging open and drenched in blood that gleamed wet and dark under the lantern light.
So much blood, too much for it to be his alone, smeared across his chest, his hands, even streaking his face in gruesome trails that dripped onto the floor with soft, sickening plops.
Human blood, I knew it in my gut, the metallic scent hitting me like a wave, coppery and thick, mingling with the rain and something sharper, more acrid, like burned metal.
His eyes, those gray eyes that had always been piercing, were gone now, swallowed by blackness that consumed the whites, leaving only inky voids that stared without seeing, unfocused and feral.
The veins under his skin had erupted to the surface, black and bulging like twisted roots pushing through pale earth, threading up his neck, across his cheeks, pulsing visibly with every ragged breath he dragged in.
He looked wrecked, far beyond the frayed man who'd left this morning, his body trembling violently as he braced against the ruined doorframe, barely holding himself upright, his knees buckling slightly before he caught himself with a guttural snarl that echoed off the walls.
Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat as I scrambled back on the cot, pressing against the wall as if it could swallow me whole.
This wasn't him, not the controlled predator who'd dragged me here or the haunted interrogator who'd paced the room firing questions; this was something broken loose, a monster wearing his skin, and the wrongness of it hit me like a physical blow, worse than anything I'd seen from him before.
Blood pooled at his feet, mixing with the rainwater streaming off him, and I couldn't tell if it was fresh kills or his own wounds leaking, but the sheer volume made my stomach twist, bile rising as images flashed of what he must have done out there in the storm.
Did he even know where he was? His blacked-out eyes swept the room blindly, not locking on me but roving with a jerky intensity, like he was hunting by scent or sound alone, his head tilting unnaturally as another low growl rumbled from his chest. I gripped the glass shard in my pocket, yanking it free with shaking fingers, the cloth wrapping unraveling as I held it out like a talisman, my mind racing through the tiny space for any escape, any corner I could bolt to before he closed the distance.
The mirror in the corner, maybe shatter it for more weapons; the bucket, heavy enough to swing if I could reach it; the pile of cans, useless but perhaps a distraction if thrown.
But the room was too small, the door behind him a mangled barrier now, and with that invisible force still possibly in play, running past him felt like suicide.
He took a staggering step forward, his boots dragging through the blood, leaving smeared footprints, and terror clawed up my spine, because whatever restraint he'd shown before was gone, stripped away, leaving only this blood-soaked wreck that might not even recognize me as anything but prey.
I slid off the cot, heart pounding so hard it drowned out the rain, my back scraping the wall as I edged sideways, desperate to put distance between us, to read if those void eyes had fixed on me yet or if he was lost in whatever madness gripped him.
Would he kill me now, finish what he'd started in the alley, or was this something else, some breakdown that made him lash out blindly?
His trembling hands flexed, fingers curling like claws, veins throbbing darker, and he lurched another step, closer, the air thickening with the stench of blood and rain-soaked decay.
Survival screamed in my head, urging me to move, to fight, but fear rooted me for a breath too long, watching as his lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing teeth stained red.
Then he lunged, sudden and ferocious, his body propelling forward with a speed that belied his wrecked state, closing the gap before I could even scream.