"Mia!"

My first instinct is to run out after her, to tow her right back into the safety of this nest, but then someone beats me to it—Clara. Hearing my scream earlier, she finally realizes the situation. She pushes past me and heads out into the storm, screaming for her daughter. Wind and slanted rain slash at her skinny frame. I watch as the storm devours her completely, my jaw dropping in sheer horror, until Mom appears a second later and pushes me back down the stairs.

"Get back inside, Delia!"

I see Mom reach for her gun and head for the door. Knowing her character, she's able to run after them. Despite her tough demeanor, she has always been a Samaritan. It doesn't matter if she's running straight into danger, but for my well-being, she hates me taking risks.

My hands fly out to grab her arms. "Mom?" My voice comes out in barely a whisper. Afraid. Pleading. "What're you doing?"

"Stay with Charles and Emily," she tells me firmly. "I'll be right back."

Emotions rush up my throat, choking me. "Mom, no! Don't leave me behind–"

She presses a quick kiss on my head. "Love you, baby. Don't be afraid. I'll be right back—I promise."

Leaving those last words, she pulls her arm out of my stubborn hands. Letting them hang in the air as the distance between us widens.

"MOM!" I scream at her back. "Come back! Please!"

She doesn't hear me. Her waning form vanishes into the tumultuous storm just as desperation tears through my chest. My feet shuffle forward, but a hand clamps down on my shoulder and hauls me back.

Charles stares right back at me, wide-eyed and alarmed. They wrapped his arms and forehead in bandages. Behind him, Max and Emily appear, wearing the same shell-shocked expression.

"What the hell—" he gasps in bafflement. "Did we not lock the door earlier, Max? How could Mia reach for it?"

Max is as startled as he is. His face grows pale. "I-I'm pretty sure I did..."

Hearing their exchange, I stare past the rest, my gaze landing on Matteo, who takes another swig from the bottle. Unlike us, he seems unfazed by this situation.

Matteo turns his head slightly, and we regard each other carefully. Something about his attitude perturbs me, including that slinky glint in his eyes. There's something off about his eerie calmness that gives me the chills down my spine.

And when he smiles, that's when everything slowly clicks into place.

That douchebag!

He's the one who unlocked the door!

Charles breaks my train of thoughts by taking my arm and steering me back. Shaking his head. "Don't go out there, Delia. It's not safe."

I glance at his worried expression before gliding past to meet Matteo's deceitful eyes. I hold his gaze right there with a spiteful glare, imagining myself hurling daggers at him like he's the dartboard. Or throwing punches into his snobbish face.

But I don't.

Instead, a hysterical laugh bubbles inside me.

My behavior startles everyone. I meet Charles's gaze and give him a withdrawn response. "Is it any safer here? With him around?"

I jab a finger in the perpetrator's direction. The rest of the group stares between me and a drunk Matteo, who keeps up with his acting and shakes what's left of the liquid in the wine bottle.

He rolls his eyes. "Are you kidding me? I'm not the one who told the little one that her father is lost. It's you, brat. Isn't that the reason she ran out?"

Somehow, he's pushing all the blame on me instead. My anger flares in response. "You asshole–"

Charles grabs my arm to stop me, a frown slipping deep between the crevices of his forehead. "Stay inside, Delia. I'll go after them."

Emily steps in. "No, Charles. You're hurt."

Three sets of eyes frown at me. They don't understand the root of my anger. They don't understand what I know, but I've no time to explain to them. I know that in their eyes, I'm simply an immature girl who knows nothing.

This place, without Mom, is not one where I can stay.

I shrug out of Charles's hold, ignoring the way he yells after me. They watch as I run away from them and into the depth of the storm.

"Delia, no!"

Ignoring the cries of protests from behind me, I set off in the same direction where Mom had taken earlier. As soon as I leave the premises of the damaged Black Rose Bar, wind whips in my face. Torrent of rain drenches me and I'm slapped by flying leaves and debris. Roofs tear off in nearby buildings. Trees wrench out of their roots, and vehicles wreck from the mighty prowess of the storm.

However, Mom is nowhere in sight.

"Mom!" I yell. "Mom!"

The beating rain and wind swallows my voice. It's like I've stepped into an apocalypse movie and I'm feeling more alone than ever in this disaster. What's worse is that I can't get a clear vision in this storm. Sounds wash out, so it's impossible to tell who's coming or not. The howling gales are so strong that they are threatening to sweep me off my feet and into oblivion.

Did I make a mistake by coming out here? Maybe.

But am I stopping? No.

If I'm finding it challenging to stay rooted to the ground, I can't bear to think how Mia would have survived out here in her small, frail body. The thought of it sickens me in the stomach.

Using my hands to shield my eyes, I push myself through this raging tempest. I can only make things out that are as far as five feet away from me, and that's it. Twice, I trip over remnants from nearby ruined buildings and structures. Damn it.

My skin tingles suddenly, especially at the back of my neck. And then I hear it—a faint whoosh. A shadow flits across my right suddenly and my hand immediately goes for the gun in my pocket, feeling for that lock switch that Mom has told me about. Before I can pull it out, the silhouette darts towards me. The next thing I hear is a loud screech and my body moves instinctively on its own; taking a side step and dodging the ferocious black mass.

Thank you for forcing me to take those self-defense classes, Mom!

I eye the creature. It's a water hound, sort of. It has a strange mix of genes from an otter and a fish. Fins run along its tail and spine. It twists itself around and, on all four paws, leaps right back at me for the second time.

I fire my gun.

It's my first time shooting, and both the recoil and sound startle me. My aiming is off—no surprise at that—and I watch as blood spurts from the creature's shoulder. I dodge out of its way, roll back to my feet, and turn to shoot once more.

This time, I shoot my target in the head, and it drops dead. Rain runs down its limp body, silently congratulating me on my first kill.

My triumph, however, doesn't last long.

The hound had not come alone.

From the corners of my eyes, I see a flicker of movement. Fangs bury themselves in my right shoulder and pain explodes, forcing a cry out of me. In a mad flurry of movements, I'm thrown onto the ground. Cold, wet gravel meets my back. I lost my gun somewhere during the fight. My gaze connects with a pair of deranged crimson eyes. Saliva and blood—my blood—dribble across its mouth with pointy teeth, enveloping me in its bad breath.

A voice rings in my head. The second time since I heard these creatures speak.

Blood. Enemy. Kill.

Warm blood pours out of my wound. The pain muddles my mind, weakening my strength. I kick my legs wildly and jab my good fist into its head multiple times. Trying to get the thing off me.

But it refuses to budge.

I shudder involuntarily. Just like how I can hear their thoughts, I want to believe they can hear mine, too.

"Let me go. Please."

A low rumble comes from above me and I peer up with squinting eyes. Watching as the rain falls over us like it's trying to wash away all the rotten dirt on this planet.

Something swirls in the hound's eyes—from a hazy red to a pristine black.

A strange sensation fills my chest. For a second, I don't see the eyes of a monster. I see something else lurking beneath the veil of blinded madness — pain and desperation.

And then I hear it.

Help me.

I'm stunned. The hound throws back its head and shrills loudly. Eyes returning to the usual red color. A clap of lightning flashes behind, making the monster above me appear far bigger and ominous. It bends down towards me once again, but this time, it's not going for my shoulder again. It's going for my throat instead.

I inhale sharply, bracing myself for the pain—

–until someone rips it off me in a blinding motion. Killing it instantly by breaking its neck with their bare hands. Tossing the dead hound aside.

The intervention astounds me. Mind in a spin, I stare in disbelief at the towering shape standing before me. Just like a beast. I try to make out his features in the storm, still befuddled by the abnormal strength that this person possesses in order to kill a mutated sea monster like that.

When he finally turns around, my jaw drops in stupefaction.

A creature has just saved...me?