Lydia stood frozen.
Her breath slowed, but her heart raced.
It beat so loud in her chest, she could barely hear anything else. Like it was trying to escape her ribs. She felt the air thin around her, like the walls had crept closer without warning. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Even blinking felt like too much effort.
Her spine burned from the effort of standing still, but she didn't move. Her eyes darted to the marble floors, the columns, the windows—anywhere but ahead. But it was no use. She could feel her coming.
Olga was coming closer, her heels clicking slowly against the cold floor.
Each step sounded louder than the last.
Click. Click. Click.
Sharp and slow, as if she had all the time in the world. Lydia's eyes didn't move, but her stomach twisted tighter with each click. The sound felt like it was echoing inside her skull, drilling in rhythm with her panic.
