The black self-driving SUV tore down the coastal highway like a black bullet fired from hell itself—tires screaming against wet asphalt, engine snarling under Melissa's command, rain sheeting across the windshield in violent silver curtains.
Inside, the cabin was a pressure cooker of blood, leather, and ozone.
Phei lay sprawled across the backseat, head still cradled in Melissa's lap, body a ruin of fractures and leaking wounds.
His breathing had gone shallow, erratic—each inhale a wet rattle, each exhale bubbling crimson foam at the corner of his mouth. Melissa's fingers were knotted in his hair, trembling, her usual cool facade cracked wide open.
She kept whispering the same three words against his temple like a prayer:
"Stay. With. Me."
Then it happened.
No warning or buildup.
Just a sudden, violent shift inside Phei's chest—like something ancient and starving had finally woken up and decided the cage of his ribs was too small.
