Lucas POV
I woke up early.
Not like I'd really slept.
Even in my dreams, they were there—laughing, watching, touching. I couldn't breathe right even when unconscious.
Who would've thought the monsters wore such beautiful faces?
Hot people. Models. Walking gods. That's what they looked like. But behind those glowing eyes and sharp smiles, something rotted. Something old. Inhuman.
They didn't even have to hide it well. We—humans—are too stupid, too desperate to be seen, to be touched, to matter, to even notice the danger.
I looked like a goddamn zombie by the time morning came up. Hollow-eyed. Grey. Shaky. My face was pale, eyes sunken, limbs heavy.
But I didn't care.
I knew one thing: I would only be able to breathe again the moment I got out of this godforsaken hellhole of a place.
I'd made up my mind.
I was leaving.
No matter what.
I was halfway through stuffing the last of my things into my bag—zipper straining from how fast I was packing—when my roommate stirred.
