Marry or Kill

17

M I N A

Elias's eyes crack open, and my heart lurches as he struggles backward, his breathing ragged. The dim light casts shadows on his dishevelled form. His widened eyes roam around the room, scanning everyone, lingering on Noah with a scrutinising intensity.

The air is thick with tension as he takes in the scene, the unease palpable. His gaze, dark and searching, lands on Noah, a mix of confusion and concern etched in his features.

"What's happening?" he coarsely asks, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence. His dishevelled hair, matted and tinged with blood on the back of his head—a detail I hadn't noticed before. "Noah?"

I turn to Noah for answers, who shines a flashlight right into my face. "Well, you two look absolutely dreadful."

"Sorry," I sarcastically reply.

A tall, blonde figure looms behind Noah. Relief washes over me—Sol. She rolls her eyes at Noah's unnecessary comments, and he obligingly steps aside, allowing Sol to enter the room.

Before she sets foot, she grimaces at the blood, her expression a visage of disgust.

"The West has infiltrated the building; it's only a matter of time until they uncover his presence." Sol shoots a swift glance at Elias, who blinks, attempting to clear the cloud in his vision. "So we need to find a way out. And damn fast."

Sol immediately throws me a gun to catch with a nod, and I swiftly hand Elias one. He's already sharp-witted, seamlessly rising to his feet.

Sol's eyes drop an inch at his bare chest before she tosses a jacket for him to wear. He briefly nods in thanks, covering himself and the blood smeared all over his toned chest.

Noah's nostrils flare at the reek of blood as he scans the room with aghast eyes. "The blood on the floor will signal to them that Elias is vulnerable, precisely what they're looking for. We don't have the luxury of time to clean it up, either," he mutters, placing his fingers on the ridge of his nose.

"Well, let's hope they take their sweet time getting here," Sol replies, cocking her head with a blood-thirsty grin.

Elias tenderly offers his hand as I step over the puddle—his hands are clammy from his wound and his complexion is paler. The metallic scent of blood lingers in the air as I take his hand, careful to avoid my boots in the puddle, not wanting to leave visible trails.

Sol lifts her gun in front of her chest as we cautiously exit the room. The mingling scents of sweat, adrenaline, and the subtle tang of gun oil fill the air. I notice Noah's attention fixated mostly on Sol, the tension palpable as if he's determined not to lose sight of her,

My tongue is dry as dust, and I can barely breathe, fearing any noise that might betray our presence as we trail down the hallway. Gunshots echo from upstairs, but down here, it's eerily dark, the lights having been switched off along with the electricity.

I grip Elias's arm at the sound of water dripping from the ceiling, and he slides his warm hand into mine. I allow his fingers to loop into mine, his touch strong and steady, each calloused ridge and warm crevice creating a warm connection. The reassuring feel of his hands provides a comforting anchor, which I despite to admit.

We make an abrupt turn, and Sol's light shines onto our faces. Her eyes drop to our hands linked together, and her face betrays nothing. She then directs the light onto several abandoned lockers, all confined together, some containing belongings. Guard's possessions, now caked in dust.

Sol gently opens one with a grimace on her face, desperate not to make any sound. The hinges creak in defiance, the sound echoing down the hallways like a bellow for help. Dust coats her fingers, and she swipes it off when she reaches into the dark locker.