Lucius arrived at Jean's quarters, his senses instantly assaulted by a strong, acrid smell that made his nostrils flare.
'What is that?' he thought.
His expression darkened, brows furrowing as he sniffed the air.
The pungent stench of fuel hung heavy, but it was more than that—it was the erratic rhythm of Jean's heart that sent a ripple of unease through him. She was inside, and something was terribly wrong.
He heard an urgent yelp for help but he was calm and didn't let it deter him.
Without hesitation, he moved silently around the perimeter, his footsteps swift but soundless. When he reached the back, he froze.
There, crouched in the shadows, was a figure cloaked in black. The figure fumbled with a match, the tiny spark catching the edge of his heightened vision.
Lucius's eyes narrowed, and understanding struck him like a bolt of lightning.
Fuel.
