The hallway door slammed open.
CLANG.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the cracked floor.
"Zara!"
A voice—his voice.
Her blood froze. Her grip tightened on the extinguisher, knuckles white.
No.
Not again.
The mimic twitched behind her, still.
Zara didn't dare look away.
"Stay back!" she shouted, voice hoarse and breaking as she raised the extinguisher again, blood dripping from her fingers. "Don't—don't come any closer!"
The figure froze in the flickering red strobes. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a familiar uniform, streaked with dust and ash. She could hear his breath—gasping, labored.
"It's me," the voice said again, low and urgent as he stepped into the light. "It's Winter. Zara, it's really me—I followed your trail through the tunnel—what happened to your side?"
She could barely think through the pounding in her skull, the fire in her ribs, the iron taste in her mouth.
The relief and worry in his voice was almost enough to make her fold.
But she couldn't!
