Ethan picked up a busted mop handle from the floor, turned around, and faced the advancing group. His knuckles went white around the grip.
He could feel them drawing closer.
Then—
Movement. At the far back.
Not one of the henchmen.
No.
Something still. Watching.
A tall figure, face half-hidden in shadow. Not rushing like the others. Just standing there, observing, the glint of unnatural focus in his eyes.
"Let them run. The game's just starting."
Ethan's blood chilled.
"ETHAN!" Brandon called from inside the shaft.
Ethan snapped out of it and dove into the opening just as the henchmen lunged. One grabbed at his shoe—Ethan kicked free and slammed the grate shut behind them.
Darkness. Dust. The sound of heavy breathing.
Brandon lit the flashlight on his phone. "What the hell was that back there?"
Ethan didn't answer at first. He just stared into the black behind them.
"Someone… was there," he whispered.
…..
