The white door burst open. The light shone into the dark chamber like a knife. A hand emerged from the light—long fingers, as pale as bone. Camela’s scream cut through the silence. “Vincent!” He lunged forward, his claws stretched out, but the hand was faster. It gripped Camela’s wrist and yanked her toward the door. “NO!” Vincent roared, pulling her back. His claws slashed at the pale skin of the hand, but no blood came out—only white dust that scattered into the light. Camela squirmed between them, her face pale with fear as she screamed, “Vincent…don’t let go!” “I won’t,” he growled, holding her tightly. His arms wrapped around her waist, his chest heaving like a furnace. The stranger's calm yet cruel voice floated from the light. “She asked you a question, fox. You still haven’t answered.” Camela’s gaze locked onto Vincent’s as she asked again, “Do you want me to stay…or go?” The light tugged harder, making her feet slide across the dark floor. Vincent growled, his claws
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