Samantha opened the door to the cottage, her movements stiff and mechanical.
It had been a week since Mr. Wallace's attack at the baby factory — a week since his death, and a week since Xander slipped into a coma. A week that had shattered everything she thought she knew. And yet, time moved on like nothing had changed.
She stepped inside. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and something else — death, maybe. Her eyes immediately found Bruce on the couch. He was lying motionless, his bandages soaked crimson, the pale stretch of his skin stark against the fabric. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought he was already gone.
The floor creaked beneath her as she approached, the sound startling Bruce just enough to flutter his eyes open. They met hers— hollow, tired, yet filled with something she never thought she'd see in them: sorrow.
