Lydia's Point Of View
The moment that man… that terrifying, silver-eyed reaper dismissed us, air rushed back into my lungs like a physical blow. I didn't wait for a second invitation. I snatched my phone from the desk as though it were a holy relic and signaled Lucinda with a look that probably conveyed ten different levels of panic.
We didn't just walk out; we practically bolted. My heels clicked a frantic, jagged rhythm against the marble floors, echoing through those long, shadow-drenched hallways. Each statue we passed seemed alive somehow, their stone eyes tracking our retreat, waiting for the command to grab us by the throats.
The weight of their imagined scrutiny pressed against my shoulder blades like icy fingers. I could feel my pulse hammering in my temples, each beat a reminder that we were still in his domain, still vulnerable. We burst through the front doors, and even the humid night air felt like the breath of heaven… sweet, precious, and utterly undeserved.
