The figure in front of us stands like a wall, tall and imposing, blocking our only escape route. His face is hidden behind a black mask, but his stance speaks volumes. He's not here to negotiate. He's here to end this.
Max's grip tightens around my hand, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. His eyes dart between the gunman and the hallway behind us, calculating, weighing options, but there's nothing he can do.
"Move," Max growls, his voice low but full of authority. The gunman doesn't budge.
I feel my heart race in my chest, the beat quickening with every second that passes. My throat is dry, and my palms are clammy with sweat. This isn't real. It can't be. We can't be this close to death.
"Stay calm," Max whispers to me, though his eyes betray the fear he's trying to hide. He pulls me closer, like he's shielding me from whatever's coming next.
The gunman takes a step forward, his boots echoing off the floor with an unsettling finality. The cold glint of his weapon catches the light, and for a split second, I imagine the worst—the bullet hitting its mark, ending everything before it even begins.
"What do you want?" Max demands, trying to control the situation, but his voice cracks with the strain.
The gunman doesn't answer. He simply lifts the gun, pointing it straight at Max's chest. My breath catches in my throat, and everything seems to slow down.
"Don't," I gasp, stepping forward, my voice trembling. "Please, just let us go."
The gunman doesn't flinch. "You don't get to make the rules here," he says, his voice cold and detached. "This is how it ends."
Before I can react, a loud crash erupts from behind us, followed by the sound of footsteps charging down the hallway. I turn, my eyes wide with fear, and see Jaxon and Mila emerging from the shadows, both moving with lethal precision.
"No one's leaving until the job is done," Jaxon's voice rings out, calm and steady, as if this were all part of the plan.
Max's hand tightens around mine, pulling me further into his side. "You don't control this," he spits at Jaxon, his anger flaring.
But Jaxon simply smiles. "You think you have control, Max? You never did. You never will."
The gunman doesn't take his eyes off Max, but I notice the shift in his stance. There's hesitation now. A pause. It's as if he's waiting for something.
Then it hits me—he's waiting for an order.
And that's when everything changes.
The lights flicker.
The world seems to stop.
And from the darkness at the end of the hallway, a figure steps forward—another one. This one is different. His presence is so overpowering that even the gunman lowers his weapon slightly, acknowledging him.
"Enough, Kael," the figure says, his voice smooth, commanding. The gunman—Kael—freezes, lowering his gun and stepping aside.
I don't know who this new person is, but I can feel the shift in the room. The tension breaks, just slightly, but the danger still hangs in the air like a heavy fog.
The man who steps forward is tall, with sharp features and an air of authority. His eyes are dark, intense, and I can't help but feel like he's been watching us for a while.
Max's entire posture changes when he sees the man. His shoulders tense, his jaw sets. He's no longer the confident, strong figure he was a moment ago. This man—this new player—holds power over Max, and that realization stabs through me like a knife.
The stranger looks at me then, his gaze unnerving. It's like he's sizing me up, weighing me in a way that feels almost too intimate. He doesn't speak at first, his silence hanging heavy in the air. But when he finally does, his voice is low, edged with something dangerous.
"You must be Amara," he says, and I can hear the slightest edge of amusement in his tone. "I've been hearing a lot about you."
"Who are you?" I demand, my voice trembling but defiant. "Why are you doing this?"
He smiles, a cruel twist of his lips. "You're caught in the middle of something bigger than you can comprehend, Amara. And the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for everyone."
Max steps forward, standing between me and the stranger, his body a protective shield. "Leave her out of this, Vance. She doesn't belong in your game."
Vance—so his name is Vance—laughs softly, but there's no humor in it. "You know that's not true, Max. She's already too deep in it. She's made her choice." His eyes flicker to the envelope still clutched in my hand, and something dark glimmers in his gaze. "And now, she has to live with the consequences."
I feel the weight of his words settle over me, heavy and suffocating. What have I gotten myself into? I want to run, to scream, to escape from this nightmare. But I can't. I can't go anywhere. I'm trapped.
A sudden noise behind us—footsteps—pulls my attention back to the hallway, and I see more figures emerging from the darkness, surrounding us.