Miles stepped deeper into the hallway, his footsteps echoing faintly against cracked concrete and hollow silence. The interior was dark, heavy with dust and abandonment, yet thin streams of sunlight forced their way through broken sections of the wall, cutting sharp lines across the floor like blades of gold. The air felt still, almost waiting.
He dragged a rusted chair into place and pushed Kyle into it, securing him just enough so he would not fall over. Kyle's head lolled to one side, his lips moving with incoherent murmurs, his mind trapped somewhere far from reality under the effect of the drugs.
Miles exhaled slowly, his senses sharpening.
Then came the sound.
Footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
From the shadows.
Miles' hand instinctively moved to his holster, his body turning slightly, his eyes locking onto the dark corner where the sound originated.
A figure emerged.
