Chapter 9 · Text From the Dead

The drawer closest to me slams open. A pale arm flops out, fingers curled like claws.

I don't move. Can't move. My legs are concrete.

Ethan shoves me toward the door. "Charlotte. Go."

"What the hell is—"

"Now."

His voice comes out wrong. Too deep. Like something's crawling up from his chest.

I stumble backward. Another drawer flies open across the room, metal shrieking against metal. The fluorescent lights overhead start flickering. On. Off. On.

Ethan's standing between me and the rows of cold storage, shoulders squared. His eyes are still yellow. Brighter now. The kind of bright that shouldn't exist in a human skull.

"You need to run," he says, and he's not looking at me anymore. He's watching the drawers. All of them. "Get to the car. Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone."

"I'm not leaving you in here with—"

"Charlotte."

The way he says my name stops me cold. It's not a request. It's an order. The kind you give someone when you know what's coming and they don't.

I back toward the door. My phone's still clutched in my hand. Mara's warning is still burning in my ears. *Don't trust him.