The darkness in the penthouse isn't quiet anymore. It heavy-presses against my eyelids, suffocating and thick, reeking of dirty snow and silver keys.
I’m running through a hallway that stretches into infinity. The floorboards beneath my bare feet are cold, slick with water, and every door I pass leads straight into an empty elevator shaft. Behind me, the sharp, rhythmic click of a deadbolt sliding into place echoes through the dark.
“Every step you take toward the grave is a step I take toward taking back what’s mine.”
Her voice isn't coming from behind me. It’s coming from inside my own chest, rattling against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I turn around, and the dim yellow light of the outer corridor flares to life. Willow is standing there, her thin white tank top soaked through, her
