The room was cold and still, the only sound the faint, ragged breathing of Vaughn as he lay unconscious on the bed. The dim light overhead flickered sporadically, casting long shadows across the decaying walls. Every creak of the old hospital, every distant rustle, set her on edge, her heart pounding in her chest. She held Vaughn's hand tightly.
Then, suddenly, she heard footsteps. They were faint at first, but growing louder, closer. Each step was a threat, each echo a reminder of the danger they were in.
The hairs on Eliza's body stood on end, a chill running down her spine. Her hand instinctively moved to the gun holstered at her side, fingers wrapping around the cold metal grip. She tightened her hold, her pulse quickening as the footsteps approached.
Nikolas shot her a look, his expression tense but composed, signaling her to stay calm.
But calm was the last thing she felt.
