Rahat's pulse was thundering in his ears.
The shadow girl's empty eyes didn't blink, didn't waver.
"Now, Rahat," she hissed, "before they see you."
He snatched the cold, black key from the box. The moment his fingers touched it, a jolt ran through his arm—like ice and fire fighting in his veins. The runes on the key flared faintly, and for a split second, the whole room seemed to twist.
The footsteps were closer now. Heavy. Wet. As if something was dragging itself across the floor.
Rahat's eyes darted toward the broken window he'd entered through, but the shadow girl shook her head.
"They've already sealed your way back."
A deep rumbling growl echoed from the hallway. The smell of damp earth and something rotting filled the air.
"What are they?" Rahat whispered.
The girl's voice trembled for the first time.
"They are the Hunters. They track the scent of the First Key. And they… never… stop."
Suddenly, the hallway light sputtered and died. From the darkness emerged a figure—taller than any man Rahat had ever seen. Its body was wrapped in strips of blackened flesh, twitching as if alive. Where its face should have been, there was only a gaping void, with teeth like broken glass glinting in the dark.
It bent forward, sniffing the air.
Hhhhhhhh...
The sound was wet, hungry.
"Run!" the shadow girl screamed.
Rahat bolted toward the far door, the key gripped so tightly his knuckles ached. He could hear the Hunter's claws scraping against the tiles, chasing him.
He slammed through the morgue's back exit into a narrow alley, the freezing dawn air burning his lungs. But the relief lasted seconds—because when he looked up, the alley's walls were no longer made of brick.
They were made of shadow.
The darkness rose high above him, twisting, forming shapes—faces that whispered his name in voices he didn't recognize.
Behind him, the Hunter stepped out of the morgue, the void where its eyes should be locking directly onto him.
And Rahat realized—
The shadows weren't just following him.
They were guiding him.