The shower’s warmth lingers in the stead bathroom as I pull on the clothes laid out for . A perfect fit—black leggings, sports bra, and a loose gray t-shirt. Of course they know my size. These people seem to know everything about .
Back in the room, my gaze falls on a pair of pristine white sneakers at the foot of the bed. The sight of them sends a chill down my spine despite their innocent appearance. Everything here has a purpose, a calculated reason. Why new shoes? Why new clothes? Why a shower?
Dread fills my belly.
I slip them on, half-expecting them to be laced with poison or equipped with tracking devices. They’re comfortable. Too comfortable.
"What’s the occasion?" I ask Jim, but he remains silent in his chair, eyes closed.
The blue spirits catch my attention, zipping around the room with unusual vigor. Their movents remind of disturbed bees, frantic and purposeful. They dart through walls and return, their ethereal forms pulsing with an intensity I haven’t seen before.
Sothing’s wrong.
The orange spirits that usually hover by the door like silent, terrified hostages are gone. The absence feels significant.
Sothing’s happening.
A blue spirit phases through my chest, leaving behind an icy sensation that makes gasp. Another follows, then another. Their urgency is contagious, and I swear they’re trying to get my attention.
They don’t feel like anything when I reach out to touch them, or when they brush against . It’s only when they want to have sensation, it seems.
I’m not sure how that works.
As I’m pondering the logistics of their spiritual bodies, the floor beneath my feet trembles.
A deep, thunderous roar tears through the building. The walls shake, and the fluorescent lights flicker. The sound reminds of demolition sites, of controlled explosions that echo through city streets.
Except this doesn’t feel controlled at all.
Dr. Reeves slams open my door, staggering a little as he walks.
Then he takes the few strides needed to reach and shoves sothing into my arms. A box. My heart skips when I spot the air holes punched through its sides. A soft w confirms my suspicion.
"Princess Paws?"
"Are you certain about this?" Dr. Reeves asks Jim, his voice tight. He pays no attention at all.
"It’s the only way." The other man’s words co out flat, emotionless.
The entire encounter is strange. The explosion is strange. What the hell is going on here?!
Dr. Reeves strides to Jim’s side, and my captor doesn’t flinch. tal glints in the doctor’s hand—a syringe. Before I can react, he plunges it into Jim’s arm, causing him to slump forward in his chair just monts later.
Then he shoves his friend’s limp body to the ground and kicks the chair across the room.
"You have two minutes before the dragons find you." Dr. Reeves turns to , his clinical detachnt cracking. "I’ve done what I’m willing to do. If you’re smart, you won’t follow ."
He sweeps out, leaving the door wide open. The invitation to freedom hangs in the air like a trap ready to spring.
My legs won’t move. My brain screams to run, but shock roots in place. Princess Paws ws again, the sound breaking through my paralysis.
The blue spirits whirl in front of , their movents frantic. They dart toward the door, then back to , like ethereal tour guides desperate for my attention.
My feet finally rember how to work, even if my legs tremble.
I bolt.
The spirits zip ahead, leading down a sterile hallway. Left turn. Right turn. Another right. Their glow pulses brighter at each intersection, marking the path like supernatural breadcrumbs.
Behind , sothing roars once again. Walls shake. The ground trembles beneath my new sneakers.
I clutch Princess Paws’ box tighter, sprinting after my agitated, orb-light friends.
The building shudders again, and dust rains from the ceiling. It’s hard to breathe, coughing as my feet pound against the ground. Even the light is dim as the air becos more polluted with haze.
The blue glow of the spirits is my lifeline through the maze of corridors, until we finally make it to a staircase.
Down, down, down.
I almost trip a few tis and have to slow my steps a little.
I haven’t had much chance to tour the place, but it looks like so sort of abandoned hospital from decades past, a vast difference from the (presumably) remodeled floor where I was held captive.
I don’t run into anyone.
No guards.
No orderlies.
No nurses.
It’s like a ghost town.
Another boom rocks the foundation, closer this ti. Cracks spider across the walls, and I can only pray the whole place doesn’t co down on our heads. The spirits dash forward. How many flights have we gone down?
The blue spirits flash orange without warning, their light dimming to a dull amber. They veer a sharp right at the landing, through a doorway.
Yanking the door open, I follow.
Pain explodes across my scalp as sothing yanks backward. The box slips from my grip, tumbling end over end as Princess Paws yowls inside.
"No!" I reach for her, even though it’s futile.
Ice-cold fingers dig into my upper arm, and my blood turns to frost. I know that touch. That unnatural chill that seeps through skin and muscle straight to the bone.
Then I’m spun around.
Xavier’s face fills my vision, twisted into sothing feral. Those unnaturally large purple irises burn with fury, pupils contracted to pinpoints. His perfectly styled hair is disheveled, suit jacket torn at the shoulder, and the sll of his sulfur-breath is strong enough to make gag, overpowering the coughing fit from particles in the air.
He drags behind him like a rag doll, heading back up the stairs, his grip bruising. I dig my heels into the floor, grabbing at the stair rails, digging my nails into the tal. There’s no way I’m going to let him drag back up there again.
No fucking way.
Princess Paws cries from sowhere behind us. Each plaintive w stabs at my heart.
"How did you get this far?" Xavier’s tone is light, conversational, as if we’re discussing the weather over coffee. The disconnect between his casual words and savage expression sends chills down my spine.
I’m done with this place. Done with these people. I have no idea why Jim or Dr. Reeves helped escape, and I’m not going to give up this chance. It might be my only one.
"I used my feet." Sass is probably not a good choice in this situation, but I don’t give up, trying desperately to yank my arm out of his grip.
A deep groan reverberates through the building. Xavier’s head snaps up, and I follow his gaze.
I’ve watched enough 9/11 survivor stories to know what’s coming.
The ceiling splits apart with a thunderous crack.
Chunks of concrete and tal rain down, and Xavier’s icy grip vanishes as tons of debris crash onto him.
By so insane stroke of luck, the building still stands. But I have no idea how long I have.
My heart pounds hard enough to burst as I scramble back. Before Xavier can sohow superhumanly burst through the debris, I snatch up the box containing my traumatized kitten and dash down the stairs.
The spirits are gone, completely scattered, so I do the only thing that makes sense.
I continue down the stairwell.
I have to get out of this building before it collapses on top of next.
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