Ryan's point of view
Empty shadows
The weight pressing against my chest wasn't just from the tightness in my ribs, the burn of exhaustion settling deep in my bones, or the slow pulse of something wet seeping into my skin. It was heavier, denser—something unseen, something clawing at the inside of my throat, making every breath feel like a struggle against an invisible grip.
The room pulsed with shadows, the dim glow from the overhead light barely reaching the corners where darkness lurked, thick and unmoving. My hands twitched at my sides, fingers curling against the floor, rough concrete scraping at my skin. The scent of damp air mixed with the metallic tang coating the back of my tongue, sharp, suffocating, making it impossible to swallow without tasting it.
Footsteps.
