The gun was dead weight in Zion’s hand, its metallic bite leaching through his skin and into the bone, as if he were gripping winter itself. His fingers twitched around the trigger, useless, betraying him, while the taste of pennies and bile spread across his tongue. Fear wasn’t a rush—it was a slow, corrosive film, coating his thoughts, dulling them, making every breath feel borrowed.
“Look at you, partner,” the voice rasped from the dark.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The sound crawled, raw and uneven, like stone dragged across concrete. The void stood beneath the lone bulb, or maybe behind it—Zion couldn’t tell. The shadows around the figure were wrong, too dense, swallowing the weak light instead of bending to it. Staring felt like trying to focus on a hole in reality. The void didn’t move, yet its presence pressed inward, compressing Zion’s chest until each breath came shallow and sharp.
“Can’t pull the fucking trigger.”
Zion’s body shook in quiet rebellion, a tremor-