The dog was a monster.
But this… this was something far worse.
The black cat did not rush us immediately. It stayed crouched for a moment, studying. Its golden eyes moved from me to Sarah and back again, calculating, weighing, deciding.
It wasn't just hunting. It was choosing.
The air felt heavier with every second that passed. My palms were damp. My telekinesis wouldn't do anything meaningful against something that size. Even if I threw a chair at it, at best it would annoy it.
And annoying a predator like this would only make things worse.
"Slowly," I told Sarah through telepathy. "We step back. Not fast. Don't trigger it."
She nodded faintly. Her wings were half-raised, trembling. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to flee. I could feel it through the connection — a wild, primal fear that didn't belong to a human mind.
We took one step back and as soon as we did that, the cat's head tilted slightly as it took another step.
With speed difficult to follow with eyes alone, it glided across the hallway with impossible grace and positioned itself between us and the direction we had come from — the stairwell.
It was blocking our retreat.
'It wants us cornered.' I thought and, "Left corridor," I whispered mentally.
We shifted direction slowly, trying to move deeper into the office floor. Maybe we could find another stairwell and leave behind this cat.
The cat followed at a walking pace. It was not chargin behind us, it was just there, just... following.
Its tail swayed lazily behind it like it was playing with us and then, without warning, it vanished from where it stood.
It moved so fast that it was suddenly gone from our view and my brain barely had time to process it before Sarah screamed.
The cat reappeared behind her.
Its massive paw came down on her wing mid-flap, slamming her into the floor with terrifying force. The tiles cracked under the impact.
"Sarah!" I shouted — both out loud and in my mind.
She tried to push herself up, but the cat pressed down harder, pinning her like she weighed nothing. For something so large, it moved without sound.
I tried to lift a chair with telekinesis and hurled it at the cat's head.
It hit the cat and the chair bent as the cat didn't even flinch. It looked at me instead as if almost… offended. Asking me wheater this is the best I could do.
Then it returned its attention to Sarah who was still under it.
It didn't bite her throat immediately.
It didn't go for a killing blow.
Instead, it lifted its paw and let her struggle to crawl a short distance.
Then it stepped forward and struck again — claws slicing across her back, tearing fabric, skin, feathers.
She cried out, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.
Through our telepathic link, I felt everything.
Pain.
Panic.
Desperation.
"Run!" she screamed inside my head.
I tried to rush forward, but the cat's eyes snapped toward me instantly. A low rumble vibrated in its chest — not loud, but enough to freeze my legs.
It wanted me to watch, not interfere.
Sarah tried to stand again, wings flaring wildly in a final attempt to escape.
The cat allowed it.
It stepped back just enough for her to stagger two steps forward.
Then it lunged.
Its jaws closed around her shoulder, not her neck, and it tossed her sideways like a toy. She crashed into a glass wall, shattering it.
Blood spread across the tiles.
Her thoughts in my mind became fragmented.
Fading.
The cat approached her slowly, almost gently.
It placed one massive paw on her chest and leaned down.
This time, it bit her throat.
Clean.
Precise.
Her presence in my mind vanished instantly.
The telepathic link went silent.
Not disconnected.
Gone.
For a moment, the world felt empty in a way that silence alone could not explain.
The cat lifted its head, blood dark against its black fur, and looked at me.
There was no hunger in its eyes.
Only satisfaction.
It had accomplished what it wanted.
My body moved before my mind caught up.
I ran.
I didn't think. I didn't plan.
I just ran.
I knocked over desks behind me, using telekinesis to shove cabinets into the hallway, creating obstacles. Drawers spilled open. Papers flew everywhere.
The cat did not chase immediately.
That was the worst part.
It walked.
I heard nothing behind me except my own breathing and the distant sound of objects being nudged aside — not smashed through like the dog would have done, but moved with patience.
I ducked into a side office and slid behind a row of filing cabinets, crouching so low my knees ached against the tile.
The metal pressed cold against my back, and I forced myself to breathe through my nose, slow and shallow. If I made even the slightest sound, it would hear. It always heard.
Maybe it would lose interest. Maybe killing Sarah was enough. The thought alone made my stomach twist violently.
Outside the office, I heard it, it was not claws scraping wildly nor the chaotic crashing of the dog.
Just soft, deliberate footsteps.
It wasn't searching for me but was walking right towards me.
The steps stopped right outside the door.
The silence that followed was unbearable. It wasn't empty silence. It was the kind that felt like something was leaning close, listening to your heartbeat.
The door handle slowly turned.
The door creaked open just enough for me to see those golden eyes staring through the gap.
They weren't glowing.
They didn't need to.
They were calm, steady, and impossibly aware.
It didn't lunge at me. It didn't roar.
It just looked at me, crouched there like something pathetic.
And in that moment, I understood something that hurt more than fear.
It knew I was the weaker one.
Sarah had tried to stand her ground. She had stepped forward when I couldn't. She had told me to run when she knew she wouldn't survive.
I was alive because she wasn't.
That wasn't luck.
That was my failure.
It is the price I paid for being, the weaker one.
The cabinet beside me suddenly split open as the cat lazily swiped at it, metal tearing like thin foil. I scrambled out the opposite side of the office before its claws could reach me, nearly slipping on the floor as I bolted into the hallway again.
My chest felt tight, not just from running but from something heavier sitting inside it.
I told her not to run.
I told her to think.
I told her we could outsmart it.
All I did was trap her.
I turned into another corridor and ducked into a storage room, collapsing behind a stack of boxes. My breathing was ragged now, no matter how hard I tried to control it. My mind kept replaying the image of her wing being crushed under that massive paw.
If I had attacked more aggressively.
If I had pushed my telekinesis harder earlier.
If I had drawn its attention to myself first.
She might have lived.
A faint shifting sound came from above me.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
I didn't even have time to curse before a ceiling tile moved aside and the cat dropped down between me and the door.
It had taken the vents.
It had predicted where I would hide.
It stood there silently, tail swaying once, watching me with that same calm expression.
It wasn't hunting blindly.
It was studying me.
Seeing how far I could go.
Seeing how much guilt would slow me down.
I stumbled backward, knocking over a box as I rushed past it and out through the emergency exit of the storage room. My legs were beginning to feel weak, but I kept moving because stopping meant facing it, and facing it meant remembering her final expression.
Every hiding place I chose lasted less than a minute. A darkened cubicle. An empty meeting room. A janitor's closet. Every time I allowed myself to believe I had finally broken its line of sight, it appeared again.
Sometimes it revealed itself immediately, stepping into the doorway as if it had been waiting.
Sometimes it waited longer, letting hope build inside me before silently stepping into view.
It wasn't trying to kill me.
It was proving something.
By the time I reached another stairwell at the far end of the building, my lungs felt like they were tearing apart. My head throbbed from overusing my ability. Blood from my nose had dried against my upper lip, and my hands were shaking so badly I almost missed the handle.
I burst through the door and started descending this time.
Up had failed.
Maybe down would be different.
Maybe I could lose it near the chaos below.
Maybe—
Behind me, the stairwell door opened again slowly.
No slam or urgency in them as I heard its paws touch the metal steps.
One step at a time.
Steady.
Controlled.
Following.
It wasn't chasing because it didn't need to.
It knew I would keep running.
I gripped the railing as I moved downward, my vision blurring not just from exhaustion but from the weight pressing against my chest.
"I'm sorry," I muttered under my breath, though there was no one left to hear it.
I was the one who suggested going up.
I was the one who believed distance meant safety.
I was the one who hesitated instead of drawing its attention fully to myself.
Sarah didn't die because she was weaker.
She died because she trusted me.
And now I was alone, running down a stairwell with a predator calmly pacing behind me, alive only because someone else had taken my place.