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Maya winces as she takes in the scene, her eyes wide with shock. Phoenix’s men have forced her and Simon into the reception hall. Originally designed to host weddings or galas, the vast room has been transformed into a macabre theater. The garnet velvet chairs have been pushed back against the walls, creating a large empty space in the center, where a kabbalistic circle sprawls across the floor, drawn with chilling precision.
Colored powders form complex patterns, interlaced with symbols. Red, black, and gold lines crisscross the floor like threatening veins pulsing through the parquet. Tall, pale candles cast dancing shadows across the walls, and raw-cut crystals catch the light in disturbing flashes. It would look like a horror movie set—if not for the visceral certainty that everything is real. Too real.
A few steps away, two armed men keep Camille and Harriet at bay, preventing them from getting any closer. Further off, a third man beats Jenks, who is on his knees, mercilessly, as the journalist screams in panic, trying in vain to intervene.
At the center of the circle, Jimmy sits on the floor, his wrists bound in front of him. Two men stand over him, weapons aimed at his chest. Off to the side, Ashford speaks in a low, feverish voice with Ryan Rand.
Their conversation cuts off abruptly as a guard shoves Simon and Maya forward. Ryan turns slowly. When he sees Simon, his face tightens with irritation. A joyless, disdainful smile crosses his lips.
“It seems you’re particularly hard to get rid of, Mister Thompson… Nice bathrobe. Hmmm… put them with the others. We’ll decide what to do with them later.”
They’re shoved without care, nearly thrown to the floor beside Harriet and Camille. Their shoulders collide as they fall, their arms still numb from the restraints. None of the guards bother to help them up. They’re left to witness the unfolding scene, powerless, eyes wide with fear and rage.
In front of them, the beating continues.
Jenks takes another punch to the face, his head snapping violently to the side. Blood trickles from his split lip as he looks up at his attacker. Despite the pain, a spark of irony flashes in his eyes. A crooked smile twists his bruised face.
“Nice to see you too, Kyle…”
“Shut up, you pig!” the man spits, face red with fury.
Suddenly, his knee slams into Jenks’ stomach. A dull thud accompanies the detective’s gasp as he doubles over, suffocating, bound arms trembling, face contorted in pain.
Harriet stifles a cry, one trembling hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, locked on Jenks—unable to reach him, unable to protect him. Camille clenches her jaw, her gaze dark, fists tightening on her knees. Just inches away, Simon grits his teeth.
Ryan Rand remains unmoved, deliberately ignoring the pleas, the blows, the muffled cries. He doesn’t glance at Jenks or at the prisoners lined up on the floor. His attention is fully absorbed by a notebook Ashford has just handed him with great care.
Maya frowns. She recognizes that notebook, one of the ones she saw in Agatha’s chambers. Then she looks at Ashford. Something in her expression unsettles Maya. Her gaze is fixed on Ryan, but not with the professional coldness she had shown until now. There’s something feverish in her eyes, a devouring admiration. It looks like toxic devotion, an idolatry tainted with fanaticism.
A small detail catches Maya’s eye: Ryan is wearing a wedding ring. Ashford is not. That asymmetry makes the worship all the more disturbing. A shiver runs down Maya’s spine.
Ryan calmly turns a page in the notebook, then finally looks up. He speaks to Jimmy in a soft, almost weary voice. But each word is a finely honed blade.
“Well, Mister Hall… I believe my organization and I have been extremely patient in the face of your stubbornness. But our patience has limits. We have obligations, you see. Very important ones. With very important people… And they’re quite interested in your case. Or rather, in your entity.”
From the way he speaks, Maya can tell how much he enjoys the sound of his own voice.
“Your aunt, and the ancestors before her, spent many years trying to get rid of it. And according to their research—which Dr. Ashford has painstakingly corroborated, it seems the simplest way to recover the entity is to cause the death of its host. You, in this case. Once the host dies, the entity naturally transfers to a blood heir. And the cycle begins again. A system of… tragic elegance, wouldn’t you say?”
He pauses, theatrically, then resumes, mocking:
“Dr. Ashford did try to offer you another option. A child. An heir, gifted, one we would of course have taken into our care… A charming solution. But you didn’t even consider it.”
His tone hardens, ever so slightly.
“And since your dear family spirits, so proudly trapped within these walls, refuse to show us the slightest sign… well… Elisabeth?”
Ryan steps aside slowly, exuding his usual glacial poise, and gives way to Ashford. Without a word, she steps forward, her face drawn tight with cold resolve, and raises a gun, aiming it directly at Jimmy.
“I told you,” Ashford says sharply, her cruel smile flickering, “I will grant you the death you so desperately desire.”
“You were asking the wrong questions!”
Maya stands still, as if suddenly realizing what she’s just done. She hadn’t even noticed she’d stepped away from the group, or the authority with which she’d just interrupted Ashford’s deadly gesture. All eyes turn to her, startled.
Ryan narrows his gaze, looking back and forth between Ashford and Maya, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“What?”
Maya takes a deep breath, feeling her courage solidify despite the knot of fear in her gut.
“You were asking the wrong questions,” she repeats, this time more firmly. “That’s why the ghosts haven’t answered you.”
“Maya, don’t say anything!” Jenks growls, his voice raw with anxiety.
But his warning ends in a brutal punch to the gut. He collapses forward, winded, as a cry of anguish escapes Harriet’s lips. Despite the warning, Maya knows she must press on.
“I can help,” she says loudly. “If you leave them alone, I’ll give you what you want.”
“Maya!” Camille gasps, horrified.
“Don’t do this…” Jimmy pleads, barely audible.
In a flash, Ashford shifts her aim and points the gun at Maya, her cold eyes blazing with barely restrained rage.
“Get back in line right now and shut up!”
But Ryan steps in before she can fire. Calmly, he places a hand on the gun and forces it down with surprising firmness. His curiosity has clearly overtaken his caution. An amused smile, almost predatory, curves his lips.
“Hold on… I’m curious to hear what she has to say.”
Ashford obeys, though clearly against her will, lowering her weapon with a sullen glare. Maya feels every gaze fixed on her. Ryan, in particular, watches with growing interest, gesturing for her to come closer.
“So… you think you can ask the right questions, is that it?” he leans toward her, a charming smile playing at his lips.
Filled with an odd certainty, lifted by the murmur of voices only she can hear, Maya meets his eyes unflinchingly.
“Just as I can hear your father telling me that you’re still trapped in the illusion of being a genius, Ryan.”
Time seems to freeze. A heavy silence descends on the room, as if even the air has stopped moving. Ryan remains still, eyes locked on Maya, expressionless at first. Then he bursts into laughter, a cold, forced laugh that echoes unnaturally through the hall. He quickly regains his composure and turns to Jenks with a glare, eyes blazing.
“What kind of joke is this, Inspector? You’ve been sharing my private history with your little protégé?”
“He didn’t need to,” Maya replies, steady. “Paul just sees that you’re still struggling with the truth… the truth that he’s still the one pulling your strings.”
A deadly silence settles. Maya notices flickers of unease among Ryan’s men. Some exchange nervous glances, others step subtly back, as if the mere mention of Ryan’s father stirs buried fears. Something shifts in Ryan’s gaze too, something taut, almost… afraid.
He turns slowly to Ashford, his jaw clenched.
“You found a medium and didn’t think I should know?”
Ashford freezes, like a deer caught in headlights. She swallows hard, her face draining of color under the sudden pressure.
“No… no! She hasn’t shown any abilities before! She…”
Ashford turns and realizes suddenly that no one in the room is wearing a mask anymore. Even Camille, beside Harriet, stares at her with cold fury. Ashford goes still, her silence saying everything. Ryan, already tired of excuses, shoves her aside and returns to Maya, grabbing her by the shoulders.
His fingers dig in, his eyes wild, desperate. All his composure crumbles into raw, animal urgency.
“You can get me the entity, can’t you? Tell me how!”
Maya endures the shake without flinching, locking eyes with Ryan, fierce and unyielding.
“I need to speak with the last ghost in this place… or rather, the first. The very first.”
Her gaze shifts to Jenks, who suddenly seems to understand, though his face remains drawn.
“You were wrong, Fred. It worked on you too… I need to speak to him.”
“How? How?!” Ryan shakes her again, his eyes burning with impatience.
“The mask… I need the mask,” Maya says, voice steady despite the pain. “The Inspector must’ve thrown it into the small lounge in the back. And… I need a mirror.”
Ryan stares at her, scanning her face for any sign of deception. His eyes study every detail, every flicker. Something dark churns behind them—a war between suspicion and a ravenous hunger to succeed.
After a tense silence, he releases her shoulders and steps back, regaining a veneer of control.
“Fine… escort her to retrieve what she needs. And no tricks!” He raises a threatening finger under her nose.
Maya doesn’t blink. She meets his gaze with calm defiance. She knows what she must do. She ignores the shattered looks of her companions, their faces twisted with confusion and fear. Even Jimmy, hunched over, keeps his eyes on the floor.
Two armed men flank Maya and shove her toward the small Indian lounge. As they cross the threshold, her eyes scan the glass cabinets lining the room. Inside: faceless figurines, carved stones, worn talismans… and a row of small, round bronze mirrors: Aranmula mirrors, aged and darkened by time.
“So, now what?” grumbles one of the men, shoving her shoulder.
“The Inspector must’ve ditched his mask in here somewhere… I need it. And I need one of those mirrors,” she says, pointing toward the display cabinets.
The first man, irritated, begins rummaging through the room without care, throwing aside cushions and rugs with the rustle of fabric. The other one steps heavily toward the cabinet, lifts the butt of his weapon, and, with a brutal crack, shatters the glass into a thousand pieces.
“Go on, hurry up…”
The small mirrors roll across the floor with a metallic clatter. Maya kneels slowly, her fingers brushing over the scattered objects. There are about ten of them, nearly identical—but one catches her eye. Immediately, her stomach twists. A wave of visceral repulsion washes over her, as if the object is both rejecting and pulling her in. That’s the one. She knows it.
But she needs to buy time. She stays perfectly still, eyes fixed on the mirrors as if she’s still deciding.
“Well? Make up your mind!” the man snaps. “Hey… what are you staring at like that?”
She lifts her head slowly, eyes locking on a point just over his shoulder. She doesn’t blink. She barely breathes. The man shivers slightly and spins around, weapon raised…
There’s nothing.
He turns back to her, frowning, caught between irritation and unease.
“Just a shadow,” Maya answers, forcing a smile.
He growls, hauls her up roughly, and pushes her toward the door. He doesn’t notice that two mirrors are now missing from among the shattered fragments.
Amid the shards of glass and dull bronze reflections, a single statuette remains upright: Lakshmi, her four arms outstretched, palms open as if to welcome.
The goddess of fortune, Harriet had said. Maya hopes it’s true.
“Alright, now what?” Ryan demands, standing at the center of the circle in the grand hall.
One of the men, clearly eager to be rid of it, shoves the mask into Maya’s hands with a grimace of disgust. She looks down at the smooth, white, featureless face… then walks toward Jenks with slow, resolute steps. The detective is still on his knees, face battered, blood at the corner of his mouth. He lifts his head with difficulty, his eyes meeting hers.
“Maya… don’t do this…”
“Do you believe me, Inspector,” she says as she kneels before him, forcing a faint smile. “Do you believe me when I say that sometimes, even I’m afraid to look in a mirror?”
Something shifts in Jenks’ gaze. A deep, silent understanding. And though his fear is palpable—in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders—it’s clear he’s afraid for them, more than for himself. Slowly, he inclines his head.
Maya raises the mask and fits it over his face. The cold plaster presses against his bruised features. Jenks closes his eyes.
And everything changes.
The candle flames flicker, shivering as if struck by a sudden gust. A deep murmur rumbles through the room, like a tremor, a pressure shift. Then, a violent gust slams against the grand entrance doors, flinging them open with a deafening crack. Wind bursts into the hall, icy and alive, tossing hair, candlelight, and fabric in a storm of motion. Somewhere in the gusts, a distant howl echoes, a sound too guttural, too old, to be anything human.
But Maya doesn’t flinch when the figure appears.
Standing behind Jenks, a black silhouette slowly peels itself out of the darkness. Its very presence seems to drain the air from the room, casting a dread so profound it becomes nearly unbearable.
It’s him.
The one she saw in the bedroom.
The one she sensed during the ceremony.
The spirit most deeply rooted in these walls. She knows it, now.
Ryan raises a hand, signaling everyone to stay silent. But out of the corner of her eye, Maya sees Jimmy double over, his bound hands clutching his abdomen. He stifles a groan of pain. Hugo is trying to claw his way back to the surface.
Maya keeps her gaze on the specter.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Henry,” a deep, gravelly voice answers, rough like stone dragged over bone. “Henry Hall.”
The moment the words pass through Jenks’ masked lips, a vision crashes into Maya.
The large portrait in the Indian lounge, she sees it clearly in her mind. The couple. The man: tall, stiff, severe in a dark, austere suit. His face closed, his mouth hard.
Sitting in front of him, with solemn grace and a tragic quiet, is an Indian woman draped in a resplendent red sari. Red and gold. The woman in red from her visions… She was there all along.
The shiver running down Maya’s spine has nothing to do with the cold. Standing behind Jenks like a living shadow, Henry Hall sees her too. She feels it.
Maya wastes no time.
“I saw a woman crying, running from something. Who was she?”
“My wife. Anjali. And it was my duty to correct her, as a man should. She resisted punishment. I had to drag her to it myself.”
Maya fights back a wave of nausea but stays upright. If she lets fear win, he’ll vanish. And she’ll lose everything. She searches her mind for the next question.
“I found hidden passageways behind the walls. What were they for?”
Silence. Longer, this time. She worries she’s already lost the connection. Then…
“I built them for Anjali, when I realized she wouldn’t cooperate.”
“When you say punishment… does it have something to do with those corridors?”
Henry’s voice sharpens, as if restating an obvious truth.
“She wouldn’t give me what I demanded. She acted like a ghost after we came back from the East Indies. She wouldn’t speak. She slipped away, fleeing from room to room whenever I came near. So… I let her become what she claimed to be. I locked her in there, so she’d come to her senses. But she was stubborn…”
Maya clenches her jaw. She won’t give in—to anger, to pity, or to fear. She breathes deeply.
“What did she refuse you, Henry?”
“I went to the East Indies for gemstones… But Anjali, she was the most precious of them all. I found her in a small village, hidden in the mountains. Her family tended to an ancient sacred temple. I… saw an opportunity. I was there for stones, but she was the one I wanted.”
He pauses. His voice grows rougher, tinged with obsession.
“She wasn’t mine. She didn’t want to be. She smiled at everyone… but she ran from me. And that, I couldn’t allow.”
Maya’s throat tightens. The weight of what he’s saying presses down on her chest.
“So, one night…” His voice drops.
“I followed her.”
A vision bursts into Maya’s mind. The air shifts, hot, saturated with incense. The jungle hums softly, and far off, the ancient chant of priests rises through the darkness. A stone temple, carved and immense, stands beneath the moon. Maya hears whispers, sees flickering shadows in vibrant saris gathered at the entrance.
Then Henry, younger, dressed in colonial garb, emerges from the shadows. He doesn’t belong here. He creeps through the underbrush, reaches a crack in the temple wall, presses his eye against the stone.
Inside, lanterns throw dancing shadows on ancient carvings. And a woman moves in the firelight: Anjali. She circles a statue of black stone, her body full of grace and fire. Her gestures flow from prayer to challenge, from serenity to power.
Then, the air shifts.
Henry steps too close.
He crosses the boundary of the sanctuary.
Something in the atmosphere tears. A presence stirs beneath the stone. Anjali’s rhythm falters. She staggers. Struggles under a sudden, invisible weight. The priests cry out. They’ve seen Henry. They scream for him to leave.
But it’s too late.
A massive breath rolls through the temple.
The lanterns snuff out all at once.
And then, a roar.
Something black, shapeless, primordial, erupts from the statue and lunges at Henry.
Everything goes dark.
Back in the reception hall, Maya opens her eyes. The candles barely flicker. Nothing has moved.
But everything is different.
She understands now. Her voice is sharper, firmer, more commanding than ever.
“They kept the entity locked in that temple. Anjali and her family were its wardens. And you interrupted the ritual, that’s how it all began. You’re the root of the Hall family curse.”
“She came to me,” Henry snarls. “She made me an offer. I could have Anjali. I could have everything. In return, I had to find her a medium, someone through whom she could gain a body of her own. I agreed. I took Anjali. I married her. Brought her here. The entity gave me fortune. Prestige. Everything I deserved.”
His voice cracks, no longer proud, but laced with bitterness and cruelty.
“But Anjali… she resisted. She resisted me because she knew what I had brought back. What lived inside me. I thought it would change when she bore our child. But no. Even the child rejected me. So I locked her away too. She felt what I carried. One winter… it was so cold. I forgot about her. She died. Anjali took her own life soon after. The entity… it lied to me. Damn it. Damn it to hell.”
Maya doesn’t flinch.
“It didn’t stop with you. You condemned your bloodline and countless innocents to carry the weight of what you unleashed.”
The spirit’s hostility hums through the air. He doesn’t care. His selfishness has destroyed generations, and he still refuses to accept it.
Maya knows she can’t help him.
And he knows it too.
“To hell, then…”
With a sudden, sharp crack, Jenks’ mask splits. Then, in a single motion, it detaches, falls to the ground and shatters into fragments like glass under pressure.
Jenks blinks. His eyes clear, as though he’s waking from a long, heavy dream. He sits up slightly, disoriented, looking at Maya—then around the room. His breathing is shallow, confused.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps. Ryan strides forward, grabs Maya by the arm, hard.
“What just happened?!” he hisses, eyes wide, burning with frantic urgency.
“The spirit is gone. But… I know how to transfer the entity to you.”
At that moment, one of the guards steps forward, an earpiece jammed into his ear. He looks tense, pale.
“Boss… Cops are inbound. We need to move.”
Ryan doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he grips Maya’s arm tighter, and she bites back a grimace of pain.
“Then do it. Now. Move! Move!”
He lets go roughly. Maya staggers slightly, but stays upright. Her eyes lock with his, steady, unblinking. His, by contrast, brim with desperation, the panic of a man cornered. His hunger for power is naked now, no longer masked by charm or control.
Slowly, she holds out the Aranmula mirror she picked up in the Indian lounge.
“Hold it in your hand. Once the entity is released, that’s where it will go. You’ll be free to make your bargain with it from there.”
Ryan takes the mirror delicately, as if it might burn him. He turns it, tilts it, studies the shifting reflections across its darkened bronze surface. He’s fascinated. Addicted.
“And now?” he presses, voice impatient, almost trembling.
“Now… we break the first pact.”
Maya turns toward Jimmy, still seated on the floor. He hasn’t looked up, his gaze locked on his knees. But he senses her watching him and finally lifts his eyes to meet hers. Slowly, hopelessly, he shakes his head.
“No… Maya, don’t. That thing… it can’t end up with someone like him. And I won’t let it take you. We can’t give him what he wants.”
It’s impossible to tell if he’s speaking of Hugo or Ryan. Likely both.
At the edge of her vision, Maya catches a flicker of red, a strip of ancient silk in a dark corner. Anjali’s sari. Like her, the Indian woman had tried to protect others from the creeping dark. That’s what she had passed on. That’s what Maya must pass on in turn.
She kneels before Jimmy. Gently, she takes his hands, holds them tightly, forcing him to look at her.
“Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people,” she says softly, encouraging. “Look inward, James. Accept what you find… and let it go. You don’t need him. You never did. The answer is in you. Look for it in what you already have.”
She feels Hugo stir beneath Jimmy’s skin, pushing, clawing, grinding against the sigils etched in flesh. He lashes from within, groaning, trying to claw his way back up.
But he’s lost control. For good.
Jimmy shakes his head, trembling.
“I’ve already tried… I’ve tried everything…”
Behind them, the tension builds. Ryan’s men murmur, eyes flicking toward the windows. Ashford paces, agitated. Then Ryan explodes. He draws his weapon and aims it at Maya and Jimmy.
“We’re out of time!” he shouts. “Either it works, or I put a bullet in both of you. In all of them!”
With slow, firm intent, Maya pulls Jimmy into an embrace. He’s shaking, breathing fast in her arms. She leans close to his ear.
“What is the ultimate act of love, James?”
“I… I don’t know…”
“Yes, you do. The entity always lied to you. It promised control. Power. But what’s the real act of love?”
“I… I don’t…”
CLIC.
The safety comes off.
Jenks, weak, tries to throw himself forward to protect them, but his body won’t respond. Simon, silent, shields Camille and Harriet with his own body.
Maya insists, more urgently now, whispering like a desperate prayer.
“What is the ultimate act of love?”
Jimmy breathes out. Barely a whisper.
“Letting go…”
A shiver rushes through the space, then, all the candles blow out at once.bA glacial wind sweeps along the walls. Maya feels it before it hits her, a violent surge, as if lightning bursts from within.
Jimmy’s body convulses, seized by spasms that fold him in half.
Then, a black wave crashes into the room. Not just darkness. An absence of light so complete, so alive, so hungry, it seems to devour reality itself. Screams, not in the room, but inside Maya’s head. Dozens. Hundreds. Ancient. Inhuman. And for one terrifying instant, she’s convinced the others hear them too.
A final vision tears through her. Behind her closed eyes, the void begins to take shape. A shapeless, shifting figure pulses in the dark, writhing like a black heart made of smoke, claws, and whispering mouths Then it takes on faces.
Hugo. Possessed. Ravaged. Then Henry. His gaze hard. His mouth twisted by rage. Then Follin. Euphemia. Dozens more. The entire Hall bloodline, one by one, masks the entity has worn through the centuries.
Maya sees them all. Every face twisted by pain, by hatred. Every distorted echo of the same core: rage. chaos. hunger. violence But she doesn’t back down.
She meets the darkness. She looks it in the eye, because now she knows, it looks back. And this time, she’s not afraid.
“You were right, Hugo. The fire is burning in me too and I will clear the way… I will light the darkness… from things… like… you.”
The silhouette trembles. Hesitates. Then slowly begins to recede, as if drawn backward by a force even deeper. It shrinks. Retreats. Disappears into the waiting shadows, gone.
When Maya opens her eyes again, Ryan’s voice lashes through the air like a whip.
“Is it done?! Well?!”
She doesn’t answer right away.
In her arms, Jimmy lies limp, unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. He’s pale. Drained.
But he’s alive. And more than that: he’s free.
Maya slowly raises her head and turns toward Ryan, her expression frozen, unreadable.
“The entity is in the mirror. I’ve held up my end of the deal. Now leave us.”
Ryan looks down at the Aranmula mirror in his hand. He stares at it like a prize, a miracle made real. His eyes glitter. Then he laughs. A short, triumphant laugh, almost childlike in its glee.
“You see, Elisabeth? It wasn’t that complicated after all… A girl did in under an hour what you’ve failed to do in a year.”
Ashford stands frozen, rigid. If looks could kill, Maya would have turned to ash. Jealousy rolls off her in waves, sharp, acidic.
“Boss, we really gotta go,” says one of the men. “Cops are nearly here…”
Ryan turns and steps toward Ashford. He places both hands on her shoulders, half lover, half superior.
“Elisabeth, buy us some time. I’ll get you out as soon as I can.”
“But…”
“Trust me. You know I can’t do this without you. Handle our… guests. And take the girl with you. I have big plans for her.”
He turns one last time to the others, with a cold, polished smile.
“Jenks… Simon… A pleasure never to see you again.”
And just like that, Ryan and his men start packing.
Within moments, they vanish down the corridors.
Harriet rushes to Jenks, who’s half-collapsed against the wall, breath ragged, eyes distant. She kneels beside him, placing trembling hands on his face to draw his focus.
Simon remains standing, tense, one arm wrapped around Camille, who clings to him, still shaking.
Then a sharp crack of rage. Ashford.
She snaps. Her face contorted by fury, her heels striking the ground with rage, she charges straight at Maya.
“You… You! I knew I should never have brought you in! Do you even realize what I gave up for this? Time, energy, my career, Ryan, for god’s sake!”
Her eyes brim with tears of pure frustration. But none fall. She trembles with rage. Jaw clenched. Fists balled. Maya doesn’t move. Still cradling Jimmy, she watches with calm detachment, feeling the faintest twitch—he’s alive. Stirring.
Ashford closes in, staggering, manic, unhinged. Her hand reaches out, clawed and shaking, part threat, part desperation. But Maya doesn’t have time to react.
Crack.
A sharp, decisive sound. Ashford collapses to the ground.
Behind her, Camille stands with a shattered chair in her hands, panting, eyes blazing with fed-up fury.
“Fuck,” she mutters between gritted teeth. “I am so sick of this bullshit.”
Silence crashes over the room, stunned. Then, as if choreographed, a collective exhale. And finally, the sound they’ve all been waiting for: police sirens, cutting through the dawn air, shrill and clear, growing closer with every second.
Maya lifts her eyes slowly toward the tall windows. The darkness has lifted. A pale, gray light stretches across the horizon. Dawn is here.
The darkest hour is just before sunrise.