Chapter 80 Blood On The Sheets

• The storm had finally broken.
• For the first time in what felt like days, the silence wasn’t filled with gunfire or the thunder of boots chasing us down narrow corridors. Instead, it was raining steadily, heavily, and cleansing. The safehouse creaked beneath the weight of it, the old roof dripping in steady rhythm.
• I sat cross-legged on the thin mattress, my back against the peeling wall, my knees pulled to my chest. My clothes still smelled faintly of smoke and sweat, but at least they were dry. The dim lamplight cast soft shadows across the room, blurring the sharp edges of reality, letting me pretend just for a breath that we weren’t hunted animals.