The mansion doors groaned open like rusted jaws, the sound deep and tortured as metal hinges protested. Splinters exploded outward in sharp bursts that peppered the air with wood dust, each fragment spinning and catching the light.
Smoke billowed thick and acrid from somewhere deeper inside, rolling out in gray waves that invaded our lungs, choking us with bitter gunpowder and the sweet-sick smell of seared flesh that clung to our tongues like ashy film.
Ava and I pushed through together. Our boots ground over jagged glass that crunched wetly under our soles—not just glass but mixed with pulpy bone shards that snapped like dry twigs with each step.
Blood trails oozed viscous and warm across the marble, sticking to our treads in stringy clots that stretched between boot and floor. The whole mess reeked of copper tang and pungent bile.
