The memories surged like a relentless wave, dragging Lilith back to that night-the night her world shattered.

  The air had felt wrong. It was heavy, thick.

  Suffocating.

  Silence had hung in the darkness like a held breath, fragile and unnatural. But then came the sounds-shrieking alarms blaring through the cold night, their wails echoing between buildings like the cries of the damned.

  Then, the screams.

  Not just one. Many.

  A cacophony of agony and terror, rising and falling in a sickening rhythm.

  CRASH!

  Ahhh-!

  The sharp shatter of glass split the air, like bones snapping under pressure. Lilith flinched, her body stiff with fear. The noise came from close-too close. Shadows flickered against the walls, thrown wildly by the distant flames. Occasionally her wall would flash red and blue.

  STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.

  Heavy steps pounded up the stairs in her direction. Each step was a hammer against her ears, each sound another nail sealing her fate.

  “M-mom?”

  STOMP. STOMP. STOMP.

  They were coming.

  Bang!

  Her bedroom door slammed open so violently that it nearly tore off its hinges. A looming figure filled the frame, darkness swallowing its features.

  It was her mother. Drenched in sweat and blood.

  She barreled through the doorway, face drained of all color, eyes blown wide with panic. She didn't speak, didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lilith by the arm, her grip bruising-desperate.

  "Mom?! What's going on?" she'd whispered, barely able to get the words out as her mother pulled her into the hallway.

  Her mother didn't answer right away. She only gripped Lilith's arm tighter, her fingers cold and trembling. Then, in a sharp, hushed voice, she finally spoke.

  "Not a sound, Lilith. Just follow me."

  Lilith swallowed the knot in her throat, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She obeyed, pressing close to her mother's side as they moved down the narrow staircase. The house groaned around them, its wooden bones settling under the weight of something unnatural.

  Shadows stretched along the walls, grotesque and shifting, their shapes twisting with every flicker of light from the shattered windows. The outside world bled into their home-cold air, distant sirens, the lingering scent of something burning. But beneath it all, a sickening coppery tang filled the air.

  Halfway down the stairs, her mother suddenly stopped.

  Lilith barely had time to react before she felt her mother's grip tighten, fingers digging into her skin like iron clamps.

  Then she heard it.

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  A low, guttural grow slithered up from the darkness below, thick with hunger. It was wet and guttural, a sound that sent ice lacing through her veins.

  Graugh... Aghh…..

  Munch! Munch!

  The sound of tearing flesh. The sick, wet squelch of something being chewed. Bone cracking under pressure.

  Lilith felt her stomach twist violently, bile clawing at the back of her throat. She couldn't move.

  Couldn't breathe. Tears streamed down her face.

  Her mother's fingers trembled against her wrist.

  Her voice came out hoarse, almost inaudible.

  "Listen to me, Lilith. They're already inside."

  Lilith's legs turned to lead, her breath caught in her throat as she clung to the railing, her fingers digging into the splintered wood. She didn't want to look-but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

  Below, in the dim, flickering light, she saw them.

  Her twin siblings.

  Or at least, what used to be them.

  Their small bodies moved in grotesque, jerky motions, as if controlled by invisible strings.

  Their heads twitched unnaturally, dark veins sprawling across their once-soft faces like a grotesque web. Their skin, once flushed with life, was now sickly pale, a pallid gray that stretched too tightly over their bones.

  And their mouths-God, their mouths-were slick with blood.

  Beneath them lay a sprawled figure, torn. Ruined.

  It was her father.

  The coppery scent of blood was thick, suffocating, clinging to her skin like tar. It filled her lungs, but she couldn't breathe. Her chest ached, her ribs locking in place.

  Then, one of the twins lifted its head. Its lips curled back, revealing red-stained teeth. Its eyes-dead, empty, hollow-met hers.

  But there was something worse lurking beneath the emptiness. Something primal. Hunger. Lilith's stomach lurched. A scream clawed up her throat, desperate to break free.

  Her mother's grip on her wrist tightened, fingers digging into her skin like steel vises. A silent plea. A desperate command.

  No. She wouldn’t yell. They had to leave.

  But it was too late.

  The silence shattered with the sound of her father's final, wet breath—a ragged, gurgling exhale that sent a shiver down her spine. As if the last breath was a sign of being done with their meal, the twins released him with a loud groan. They were broken, inhuman groans, their small, bloodied hands twitching as they rose.

  "No, no, no-" Her mother's voice cracked, the words barely holding together as she yanked Lilith back, up the stairs, toward what little safety they had left. "Don't look back, Lilith. Just run."

  She couldn't.

  Her gaze was locked on the horror unfolding below, trapped as her father's limp body twitched. A slow, awful movement, like a puppet being lifted by unseen strings. She wanted to deny it. Deny Reality.

  “It’s alright mom, dads fine. He’s getting up, see?

  His head lolled unnaturally to the side, glassy, bloodshot eyes rolling toward them. His mouth hung open, jaw slack, saliva and blood mixing as it dribbled down his chin.

  In a single, heart-stopping second, her father lunged.

  His arms shot forward, fingers splayed, reaching

  —grasping-for anything that would bring her closer to his gnashing teeth. His face, once kind and familiar, was now a grotesque mask of twisted hunger. His jaw hung slack, blood and saliva pooling at the corners of his lips as he let out a guttural moan.

  Her mother shoved her backward up the stairs.

  "Run, Lilith! RUN!" Her voice was raw, desperate-commanding. "Take the fire escape!"

  Lilith's feet nearly gave out beneath her, but sheer terror forced her legs into motion. She stumbled up the stairs, fingers scrambling for the railing as the world blurred around her.

  Behind her, her mother turned to face the monster that had once been her husband.

  Lilith didn't look back.

  But the sounds followed her.

  The sickening crunch of teeth meeting flesh.

  Munch-

  A shudder ran down her spine. Her stomach twisted violently.

  She reached the fire escape, flinging the window open with trembling hands. The metal frame groaned in protest as she hoisted herself over the edge. Cold air slapped her face, shocking her lungs, but even out here, she couldn't escape.

  The sounds were still there.

  The wet, tearing rip of bone and meat. The gasping, choking sobs of her mother, weakening with every second.

  Lilith's vision blurred, her breath hitching, her fingers gripping the fire escape railing so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  Munch-

  The past curled around her like a noose, suffocating her. The memories wouldn't let go.

  The shrieks of this moment-the undead guards, the screaming, the tearing of flesh-blended seamlessly with the horrors of her childhood.

  Her mind teetered on the edge, trapped between past and present, drowning in blood and screams.

  Her heartbeat pounded in her skull. Her vision darkened at the edges. The fire escape beneath her felt unsteady, unreal-like she was balancing between two worlds, neither of them offering salvation.

  And then—

  A hand grabbed her wrist.

  A voice—distant but real—cut through the fog.

  “CENILERA!” he roared, James’s voice cutting through the air like a gunshot.

  Robert followed suit, his voice raw with urgency. “WAKE UP, Lilith!”

  The impact hit like a lightning strike.

  Cenilera gasped, her entire body jolting. Her eyes snapped back into focus, darting between James and Robert, her chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic breaths. For a moment, she looked lost, like she had just been wrenched from the depths of a nightmare.

  James didn’t give her a second to process.

  “Move. Now.”

  The firelight cast jagged shadows across their faces as they bolted. James took the lead, Robert covering the rear, and Cenilera—still shaken, but moving—pressed forward between them.

  Behind them, the wet, gluttonous sounds of Sanchez’s remains being devoured filled the silence.