PREVIEW
... ight now.
"RUN! FUCKING RUN!"
The voice belongs to Marcus, I think—or maybe it was Jake. Hard to tell when terror strips away everything that makes a person recognizable. We’re all just prey now, sprinting through the familiar hallways that have become a hunting ground.
My sneakers squeak against the polished linoleum as I pump my arms, lungs already burning. Behind me, the sound of our footsteps creates a frantic rhythm—thud-thud-thud-thud—like a drumbeat counting down t ...
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