Mousan stood frozen.
He hadn't moved—hadn't even breathed—since he heard the guttural scream behind him. The same monstrous howl that had lunged toward Taylor. Followed by the sharp, urgent crack of Taylor's gun.
And now… nothing.
No shape in the shadows. No movement in the dark.
Just sound. Sounds he couldn't place.
He could hear something shifting around the room—heavy limbs dragging against stone, wet breathing close and then far, back and then closer again. Every instinct told him not to move. Not to speak. Not even to blink.
Then—another shriek tore through the dark.
And this time, it was followed by a very human voice.
"Mousan!!"
Taylor's cry was raw, strained with pain and panic.
"Call the commander! Now!"
The words snapped Mousan from his paralysis.
His fingers moved before his mind could. He reached into his coat, pulled out the communication watch, and pumped a burst of energy into its core. A soft glow lit the space—small, but a blessing in the dark.
