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Crouched behind the shower stall curtain, I felt like the heroine of a cheesy horror holo-movie.
The hidden female, tucked away in the most cliched of hiding spots, praying that the villains wouldn’t check here first.
I was practically cringing at the predictability of it, but in that moment, it was the best option I had.
The room was awash in a tidal wave of emotions, a nauseating cocktail of fear and dread.
My heart was beating out a rapid tempo against my ribs, a wild, untamed thing in my chest.
I pressed myself further into the shadows, my fingers clutching the edge of the curtain.
The worn fabric felt rough against my skin, the worn threads a tangible reminder of my precarious situation.
The door opened with a creak, its sound cutting through the deafening silence.
The room was filled with the sickly-sweet aroma of the males, a scent that twisted my stomach into knots.
“Where is she?” I heard one of the Katars demand, his voice a gravelly, harsh bark.
“Who?” Lorik asked.
“The female! The female that was in this room!”
I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for Lorik’s response.
He had been so calm, so composed, even in the face of danger.
But would he be able to convince them?
“I don’t know,” Lorik replied, his voice smooth as silk but with an undertone of irritation. “I was asleep. You woke me.”
I could feel the lump at the back of my throat swelling.
My pulse raced, my hands trembling as I struggled to keep myself still.
The soft hum of the inn’s air conditioning system did little to mask the heavy silence that fell.
My ears strained for any sign of movement, any indication of their next move.
I could smell the musty scent of the chipped tiles beneath me, a pungent blend of age and countless guests.
The room was filled with the quiet hum of the cooling unit, the low murmur of conversation from the rooms below us barely audible.
The silence dragged on, each tick of the clock like a physical weight pressing down on me.
I closed my eyes, taking slow, calming breaths, my nose filled with the scent of dust and limescale.
I gripped the shower curtain so hard that the cold metal frame dug into my skin, a grounding sensation amidst the chaos of my racing heart.
I forced myself to focus on that, on the mundane discomfort of my hiding place.
Anything to keep the panic at bay.
Lorik stood tall and imposing, a menacing silhouette against the dimly lit room.
The wicked curve of the blade in his hand gleamed ominously, reflecting the faint light and casting a grim shadow on the floor.
I could see the defined lines of his muscles as he was wearing no shirt, and it was evident he knew how to handle himself — and that blade.
