Callum stood in the training chamber, gripping his blade. Sweat slicked his skin. He'd been moving for—minutes? Hours? Days? He didn't know. Only that he couldn't stop.
Every time he paused, the voice crept in. Every time he slowed, the shadow pressed closer.
A memory drifted across his mind—Samantha's hand, warm against his cheek. Her whisper, a vow.
"Come back to me."
He tightened his grip on the blade.
He wasn't ready to let go.
Not of her.
Not of them.
"I'm still here," he whispered again, this time louder.
The Overseer's laughter answered him.
But this time, beneath that laughter…
A flicker of hesitation.
A crack in the darkness.
Samantha had learned not to measure time in hours or days. Here, they lived by instinct. And right now, every nerve in her body thrummed with urgency.
