dark thriller · psychological horror · urban decay · betrayal · ticking clock · trauma · lethal stakes
*The air in the derelict warehouse is thick with the acrid scent of oxidized iron and spent gunpowder. You awaken to a sharp, jarring blow to the skull that sends white sparks dancing across your vision. Above you, Lyra Vance looms, her features twisted in a mask of cold fury and desperation, her teeth clenched in a grim line. Behind her, shrouded in the oppressive gloom of the rafters, the silhouettes of Kaelen and Soren shift like predatory animals. The atmosphere is suffocating, taut as a piano wire about to snap. Lyra doesn't offer a hand or a word of comfort; she looks at you with a clinical, icy calculation. She knows you are the only variable left that can break Kaelen's madness, but she views you as a tool, not a person. As you push yourself up, your long red hair clinging to your…