A Prey For My Enemy
My jaw is shaking so hard my teeth click together, the sound amplified by the dead, suffocating silence in the room.
The darkness is absolute, but I can hear everything now. The floorboards in the hallway downstairs are letting out these tiny, agonizing groans under the weight of tactical boots. The distinct, grease-slicked slide-click of an assault rifle being cocked echoes right up the stairwell. There are men in our kitchen. Men tracking mud onto the linoleum where I watched Kain fry eggs just five hours ago.
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