Silence filled the house like smoke.
Rain tapped softly against the broken windows, and Adrian's breathing mixed with the sound, shallow, uneven, alive only because Clara refused to let it stop.
She held him close, her hands trembling, her face streaked with tears and dust.
His blood was warm beneath her fingers, too warm, and his heartbeat fluttered against her palm like a trapped bird.
Then a voice came from the dark.
"Let me help you."
Clara turned sharply.
The figure who had saved them lowered his hood, and under the flicker of lightning, a familiar face appeared.
Adrian froze. The world tilted.
"Luca…" he breathed, rage swelling through him.
"Don't touch me."
He tried to move, but pain ripped through his side and forced him back. His blood was spreading fast across the floorboards.
"Adrian, please," Clara whispered, pressing her hands to his wound. "You're losing too much blood. Let him help you."
Luca stepped closer, palms raised, his voice rough but steady.
"I don't want to hurt you. Let me stop the bleeding. You can hate me later."
"You think that's enough…"
"Adrian!" Clara cut in, her tone both firm and desperate. "Just let him help. Then we'll deal with everything else."
Her eyes, those deep brown eyes, broke through his fury.
Adrian sighed, defeated, leaning back against the wall.
"Fine," he muttered. "But when this is over, you'll explain everything."
Clara nodded, then turned to Giulia, who stood frozen near the door.
"Do you have a first-aid kit?"
"Y-yes," the woman stammered. "In the kitchen."
She vanished for a moment and returned with a battered white box.
Clara opened it, her hands steady even as blood dripped from her fingertips.
She worked in silence, disinfecting the wound, threading the needle.
The thread pulled through his skin, closing it inch by inch. Each stitch was a heartbeat; each heartbeat a promise.
"Breathe slowly," she murmured.
"Didn't know you were this good at it," Adrian said weakly, trying to smile.
"Let's hope I don't have to do it again."
When she finished, she handed him two pills, paracetamol and an antibiotic.
He swallowed them without protest.
From across the room, Luca watched, quiet, hollowed out by guilt.
No apology would ever be enough.
He saw the way Clara's hands moved, the way Adrian looked at her, and he understood that he had broken something far bigger than friendship.
"We need more bandages," he said softly.
"Giulia, could you check if you have any?"
Giulia nodded and disappeared down the hall. Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Too many.
Clara frowned.
"She's taking too long."
"Stay here," Adrian said, pushing himself up, but pain bent him double again.
"I'll go," Clara said.
She walked into the hallway. Every sound seemed louder there, her breath, her heartbeat, the rain.
"Giulia?" she called.
No answer. Only the creak of the old floorboards and the distant hum of thunder.
Clara rounded the corner and froze.
Giulia stood at the entrance. Her arms stiff, her face drenched in tears.
A nail gun pressed against her temple, the cold steel glinting under the lightning.
Behind her, the killer.
Alive. Smiling.
"Don't move," he hissed.
Clara stopped instantly. The air thickened, the smell of rust and rain filling her lungs.
Giulia's sobs were silent, just tremors that ran through her shoulders, down to her hands. And then Clara felt her.
Terror. Resignation. A scream buried so deep it couldn't escape.
Beneath it all, a flicker of something else, a desperate, fragile wish to live.
It hit Clara like a wave, burning through her chest until her eyes filled with tears.
Her knees trembled, but her voice… her voice stayed steady.
"Let her go."
The killer's grin widened, his knuckles whitening on the nail gun.
"One more step and she dies."
Clara slowly raised her hands, palms open.
Her heart thundered, but her gaze didn't waver. A faint shimmer passed through her irises: gold, electric, alive.
"Take me instead," she said quietly. "And let her go."
The killer blinked, thrown off.
"What did you just say?"
Clara stepped forward, inch by inch. She could hear Adrian's voice in her mind, broken, pleading: Clara, don't do this. Please.
But she couldn't stop. Not now. Not when she could still save someone.
"I have something she doesn't," Clara said softly, her tone almost hypnotic.
"I can heal you."
The killer tilted his head, as if the words had pierced something inside him.
"Heal me?" he echoed, mocking her.
Clara nodded, tears glinting on her cheeks.
"Yes. You have no idea what I'm capable of."
The house fell silent. Even the rain seemed to wait.
Then the killer pulled Giulia a step closer, the gun pressed harder to her skin. His eyes locked on Clara's, wild and searching, unsure if he was looking at prey or salvation.
And the chapter ended there, hanging between terror and revelation, on her trembling whisper: "I can heal you."