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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ FEAR gripped Anastasia. She was frantic. What the hell am I doing?

Several chairs and tables barred the warehouse entrance, but the rotten furniture couldn't hold much longer against the relentless force of the dead. It would be impossible. They kept drilling the rusty frame as they continuously tried breaching inside. Fingerprints delved into the metal, and angry screams erupted from the hall. There were too many Infected.

In an instant, the world seemed to fast-forward. Time flew by in a blur.

The tension mounted as the cracks grew tenfold, branching out in every direction. Anastasia had only seconds to form a plan—maybe less than half a minute. The panic rising in her chest suddenly overwhelmed her. She had to think fast. Improvise. Where the hell were those terrific ideas when she needed them the most?! The growling and debris-strewn environment only added to her sense of desperation.

She glanced down at her wristwatch, the broken rib a painful reminder of her chances slipping away. Each tick felt like a gut punch. Sweat beaded down her forehead as she frantically scanned the place, searching for any possible means of escape. The acrid stench of decay made her stomach churn, and she gritted her teeth in frustration. Come on, Ana, there has to be something!

And there it was: a glimmer of hope. For the first time in what felt like hours, she could breathe a sigh of relief.

Her eyes circled the warehouse with a cautious glint, taking in the piles of debris scattered haphazardly around her. With a racing heart, she kept searching for something. And when she thought all was lost, she finally spotted it; a wink of metal catching the light. Tripwires. Instinctively, she swooped down to grab them, her hands trembling. She then ducked under the nearest table, the rickety structure providing some cover as she thought this was her chance to escape.

As more time passed, the tripwires seemed to take on a life of their own, coiling and uncoiling in her hands like snakes waiting to strike. She could hear the distant groans of the Infected outside, their hungry howls sending shivers down her spine. But Anastasia held firm, her eyes fixed on the entrance to the warehouse as she took a deep breath, repeating a mantra to herself, "You can do this. You can do this."

Anastasia's lungs burned as she inhaled sharply, the slow waiting killing her as it spread in her veins like a poison dart. The air felt thick and heavy and pressed down on the crouching woman from all sides. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the tripwires, the rough metal digging into her skin. She tried to relax her grip, but her hands wouldn't obey.

A static pause draped over the depository. The silence grew louder.

Within the blink of an eye, the Infected swarmed the barren area. They poured through the cracks like lilied waters, a seething mass of bodies and limbs. Anastasia held her breath, her skin slick with sweat from the anticipation. She could see the glint of teeth and claws, the gleam of eyes ripe with feral hunger. Her muscles tensed, and a soundless prayer died on her lips. She felt thankful for the blade that pressed against her pocket; if things went south, she'd still have that to protect herself with. It was a small comfort in the overwhelming situation.

The woman scanned the place, noticing a tobacco-stained van at the far end of the warehouse; a beaten-down truck, battered and bruised from years of use and abuse, blocked the exit towards the loading dock. The side of the building absorbed half of its body, the other half shredded; a tire here, a steering wheel there. The front bumper crumpled like a piece of paper. Anastasia saw vines winding up the desolate walls, creating an unearthly pattern as their tendrils spread sideways and swallowed the car green. It was like nature was trying to pull the vehicle back into the earth from whence it came.

Cobwebbed glass adorned the bonnet as the windshield exploded from a previous hit, dirt and blood smearing the paint. The seats were ripped open, the stuffing mostly gone. A middle-aged man slumped half-in, half-out the driver's window, his eyes glassy and hollow like an emptied beer bottle. A bullet wound marked his forehead—the result of someone putting him out of his misery before he got the chance to mutate into a walking corpse. His arms dangled limply, his belly housing multiple wine-dark scratches. Several bitemarks riddled his papery skin, and the stench of his decomposing body lingered in the stale room.

Anastasia dry-heaved. The rot in the air made her sick, and she almost threw up right then. However, a sudden clicking noise met her ears, pulling her back to concentrate. She involuntarily winced at the familiar sound, dreading the thought of possible death. Clicker. It was different from the other Infected. It had a keen sense of hearing and used echolocation to pinpoint its prey. Hence, the woman had to be careful, or she'd be dead meat.

She clutched the tripwire, feeling its milk-white teeth digging into her palms. She silently cursed and watched the Infected free-roam as though they owned the place. Their movements were jerky and distorted, like marionettes pulled on an invisible string. Their skin flourished with clusters of ruby-pink corals that punctured through the bones, forming a protective layer around the host. These creatures were lethal, tainting anyone who came in contact with them.

Anastasia kept her distance because she didn't want to die. She didn't want to be with her family in the high heavens; her spirit desired to fight. She had unfinished business. Her battle wasn't yet over.

The Clicker stormed through the warehouse as though it weren't blind. Anastasia narrowly staggered to her feet to dodge the first strike. She quickly doubled back, coiling the tripwire around the monster's neck. The string delved into the flesh, slicing across its jugular. Bright red blood spilt onto the floorboards. Anastasia quickly retrieved the blade from her pocket and released her grip on the tripwire. With rapid movements, she carved a slanted C-shape into the creature's skull, causing a soft yelp to escape her lips as the body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, signalling the end of its life.

Anastasia was far from relief as another Infected darted towards her, knocking her back several steps. A sharp cry of surprise escaped her lips as she stumbled and fell to the ground, the creature looming over her with brute force. The blade slipped from her fingers, clattering, and left her vulnerable. She struggled to push the Clicker off herself, her muscles burning with fatigue. She felt sore in every fibre of her being, and the monster's enhanced strength factored in a challenge she could hardly overcome.

For a second, it seemed like Anastasia wanted to give in, but the sharp-minded woman gathered her energy for a last push. She shoved the Clicker aside with all her might, buying enough time to grab her blade from the floor. Her fingers wrapped around the familiar casing, the battered hilt firm in her palm as she plunged the weapon into the Infected without hesitation, fending off the attack.

The strike resulted in blood sprinkling all over the ground. Some of it landed on Anastasia's face as the droplets stained everything red—like cheap watercolour on a clean canvas. The Clicker then lifelessly dropped onto the woman's chest, earning a groan at the sudden weight.

Its rotten body smelled like death and destruction. Anastasia scrunched her nose as she breathed, trying to settle her nerves and racing pulse. And despite the noxious stench hanging in the air, she felt a sense of relief wash over her as she realised she was still alive.

However, her gratefulness was short-lived; she had spent too much time and only managed to kill two Infected. The sense of being outnumbered weighed heavily on her; a horde of Clickers thundering through the entrance. The tiring hide-and-seek continued, and just as she thought she was about to be overrun, the monsters dropped dead. She watched in amazement as their lifeless bodies twitched, wondering what could have caused their swift demise. And suddenly, one of the Clickers stumbled forward, pushing her back onto the ground.

Gunfire warred against the halls, echoing sharply in her mind. She felt a surge of panic, but before she could register anything, one of the corpses buried her under. Despite the struggle to stay still, the body provided cover from five armed men, keeping her hidden and safe from the potential threat.

Three of them stationed outside to keep watch while the remaining two stormed the building, shooting at the Clickers. A bullet for each ensured their safety before they could ransack the warehouse.

The fear held Anastasia's breath captive, completely paralysing her. With a stomach churn, she peeked through to see both men sweeping the place hastily. She hoped they wouldn't find her.

"Hey, Marc," one of them whistled to catch his friend's attention. He stood close to Anastasia, lifting a bottle of Scotch whiskey with a smug grin. "Look at this! Straight from the eighties, baby!"

"Those were the great times, bud," Marc said, his voice filling the air with nostalgia. Despite his young age, he sounded confident in his words as he talked about the past. He continued rummaging through the warehouse, and the sunlight pouring through the windows illuminated his copper-brown curls, giving him an almost angelic appearance. "Did you get any batteries? Luc said we're running out."

"No, bro," the man joggled a piece of paper in the air, his lips creeping into a smile. From this far, Anastasia couldn't quite make out his features, but she could see his dark stubble and a spark of blue in his eyes. Holy shit. He was gorgeous. "But check this out," he continued, flipping through the pages of a Playboy magazine. "These breasts are amazing! It's like a booby trap. You know what I mean?"

Marc didn't grin. "Not in the mood. Sorry."

"Come on, dude, don't be a buzzkill," he reprimanded. "I know you miss Sonya. I miss her too, but being a jerk about it won't change anything. We need to move on and enjoy what we have now."

"You have no right to bring her into this!"

"Oh, but I do. I have every right, just like you do, amigo. And don't you dare put all the blame on me!"

Marc scoffed. "It's because of you she's gone. You abandoned her at the aquarium like a coward, and I was the one who brought her back after she got bitten." Anastasia felt the pain in his voice as he accused his friend. "I tolerate you because I have to, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven you for everything."

"Stop being a hypocrite, Marc. You would've done the same thing if you were in my shoes," the other man countered. "I did what I could to help her, but she insisted on staying. What would you have done if she had a gun to your head?"

"Maybe I would've fucking saved her?!"

"Yeah, right," the man sneered. "All I say is, I know it hurts. You don't have to—"

"Shut up, Elliot! Shut your fucking mouth for once! You know nothing. Sonya and I had a real connection, and you fucked it up."

"Oh, did I? Do you need a refresher?" Elliot snapped, the previous immaturity disappearing from his voice. Anastasia squirmed; the quarrel made her uncomfortable. "You cheated on her, buddy. Not me. You fucked it up for yourself."

"Who told you that nonsense?!" Marc shouted as his grip tightened around the rifle. "It's good to know you'd believe a rumour about your best friend without asking first."

Elliot glowered at Marc, throwing a blank cartridge towards him in frustration. "Sonya told me she saw you with Mercy. She cried for an entire night because of you. I'm sorry I was such a 'bad friend' for respecting her feelings and not ratting her out."

Marc shook his head. "So much for the saying. Bros before hoes, right?"

"Get over yourself, dude. It's not always about you," Elliot said. "Now calm the fuck down and get back to work. We've been loud enough already. No need to bring more attention."

The warehouse went silent. The only sound in the entire place was their shoes shuffling as Marc and Elliot circled back and forth to bag the resources. They pocketed everything they could find; a broken watch, a tape recorder, two cans of expired food, tarot cards, a '90s magazine, half a pair of rain-soaked boots, a worn backpack, and an empty gun. The rest of the stuff was either junk or in Anastasia's possession.

As Marc swept the shelves, his gaze fell to the ground, where he noticed the bloody tripwire. He crouched down to drag his fingers across the redness, realising it was still fresh. And at that moment, he knew.

"Looks like someone beat us to it," he said, ruffling up his greasy hair. Glancing out the sullied window, he let out a sigh of defeat. "We were too slow. Damnit! Can we head back to camp now? It's getting late."

"Yeah, just a second."

"Bud, we have to hurry. The sun won't wait, and I don't want to walk home in pitch darkness. Take out these damn Clickers, and let's get moving."

No!

Anastasia's heart skipped a beat at Marc's words. The lump in her throat grew tenfold, and she started panicking. Not even five seconds later, the woman felt the cold tip of a gun brush against her forehead, and Marc was ready to shoot. She screamed in surprise, struggling to free herself from under the corpse. Her eyes met the man's as she rose from the ground, and a tense silence filled the air. 

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.

Elliot acted instinctively, firing a bullet that tore through Anastasia's abdomen. Her body staggered, and she let out a soft whimper as her hands moved to cover the wound to stop the bleeding. But despite her efforts, the red goo spilt through her fingers like a chocolate fountain, staining the floor in a grotesque shade.

Anastasia felt her body growing weaker every second, her legs turning Jell-O.

She cried out before Elliot pulled the trigger again. "Please don't shoot!" Her voice sounded tired. The fatigue seemed to wash over her vigilance. "I'm unarmed."

"Are you alone?" Marc asked, his rigidity sending shivers down Anastasia's backbone. And though her instinct was to lie, she knew they'd kill her regardless of the answer.

"Yes," she replied weakly, nodding as she pressed harder on the wound. "Please don't kill me. I was only searching for food and a place to lay low for the night." A tear ran down her cheeks. "I don't want to die. Not like this. Please."

"You have a name?"

"Anastasia."

"Good. Nice to meet you, Ana," he said, a wicked smile dancing on his lips.

The woman wanted to scream at him, to tell him she had a name that wasn't "woman" or "hey you." It's Anastasia, asshole! But she lacked the strength to even blink without the pain firing up her insides. Her tongue jumbled the words she would've said, making incoherent noises that no one could understand.

Marc shoved her to the ground, hitting the back of her head with the rifle's case. For a moment, everything was still, but then Anastasia felt herself drifting away, the sound of Marc's voice fading into the background. As she slipped into oblivion, she heard three words she would never forget.

"Welcome to hell."

━━━━━

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ PINPRICKS of white danced in front of her. Like freckles, they dotted her vision—a bright splash of colour against the black current. The soft breeze fanned her face, and Anastasia tried to open her eyes, but the world remained a blur. She couldn't see beyond her lashes.

She also heard voices—the steady footfalls on the tacky leaves, the distant gurgling of Infected, and heavy breathing to her left. She wasn't alone.

Elliot's raspy voice met her ears like a cheap reminder. "Hey, look! A deer."

"Can't risk it," Marc said in an instructive tone. He joggled Anastasia's body over his shoulder, "We already have dinner."

"Right. But do we have to do this? It's immoral."

"I'm not on board with it either, but we don't have a choice. Moral or not, the majority voted."

Elliot scoffed. "Well, fuck the majority."

"Hey, don't complain to me. I'm not the responsible party. Luc, on the other hand—"

"Watch out!"

A heavy blow cut the conversation short as an Infected leapt at Marc, knocking him down with Anastasia still in his arms. The woman was thrown several feet by the impact, hitting her head on the edge of a rock. She let out an exhausted groan as she felt something warm and sticky stream down her cheeks, forming a curtain of red in front of her eyes. It was blood. But despite the gravity of the situation, she remained surprisingly calm.

She didn't panic. She didn't feel anything.

She was too tired to care.

"Shit!" Elliot yelled, rushing to Marc's aid and shooting the monster dead. He snapped his head towards Anastasia, gently scooping her body from the ground. His voice was strained and frantic as he elaborated, "Marc, we have to go. She's bleeding out."

Anastasia didn't hear a response. As Elliot carried her through the forest, she weakly tilted her head at him, their gaze locking briefly. She felt her eyes drooping, and before she could count to two, she slipped back into unconsciousness again. The darkness greeted her like an old friend.

━━━━━

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"IS he gonna make it?" someone asked, the tone devastated.

Anastasia heard the other person shuffle around in the room, walking back and forth as their answer came. "I'm so sorry." The sympathetic voice felt like a blow to the heart.

"No! Please, I can't lose him too."

As Anastasia opened her eyes, she saw a raven-haired woman—the bearer of bad news—pull Marc into a friendly hug, trying to soothe him in a difficult situation.

"I'm truly sorry," she said, her face sullen. She pointed directly at a computer screen as she explained the facts. "Look, you can see the damage here." Anastasia watched the monitor flicker in and out of life as a patient's record popped up, scrolling through endless data. Finally, it showed an X-ray picture of an infected brain. "He's already changing. He won't make it."

"Fuck."

The diagnosis formed a knot in Anastasia's stomach. She had seen the effects of the virus before, and it was never pretty. The infected person's mind and body would slowly deteriorate until they became mindless, violent monsters, their fates sealed forever.

"You should go see him. Say your farewells."

Marc gave her a weak nod. "Thanks, Mercy."

Anastasia gasped at the verbal interchange, prompting the speakers to look at her. They blinked, simultaneously turning to investigate the noise, causing the woman to freeze like a deer caught in headlights. She hated being the centre of attention. She preferred to stay silent and unbothered until her chance to escape. But, of course, she had to react.

Mercy frowned. "Is she awake?"

"Yes, her breathing changed." Marc's voice was thick with emotion as he asked, "Anastasia?" The woman lifted her gaze to meet his intense green eyes, which brimmed with unshed tears, causing her stomach to churn. She felt a sharp sting where the bullet had pierced her abdomen. "Do you remember anything?"

Anastasia finally found her voice and howled, "Fuck you!" She attempted to sit up angrily, her hands flailing to strike the man, but her movements halted halfway. She was limited, her wrists secured by rusty chains tethering her to the bed. The metal clattered, a harsh echo in the bright room. "Why are you doing this?"

Marc was calm, and his words flowed easily, "We can't let you go until we know you're no threat. It seems we have no choice." He made it sound simple, but the truth couldn't have been further from that. "You bled through your clothes, so Elliot got you fresh ones. There's food on the table if you're hungry. Oh, and the collar stays."

Anastasia's fingers scrambled for the metal clasp around her neck as something inside her went cold. The collar was tight and heavy against her skin but nowhere near as overwhelming as the rage gripping her. She saw the red veil roll out in front of her like a thousand chariots. She felt sick, not because a man had seen her naked, but because they had chained her up like a rabid animal as if she weren't human.

However, Anastasia was smart enough to realise that throwing herself at them would not result in them removing the shackles. She had to play along and cooperate to get rid of this nightmare. So she tamed her wrath, burying it deep within and resting with the thought that she would use it someday.

"Will I ever leave this room?" she asked, swallowing hard.

Marc nodded and replied, "Shortly. Elliot will take my place in a moment," indicating that he had the key to the chains. "He might take you for a walk to help you recover that nasty wound faster. I have to say goodbye to a friend anyway."

"How did he get infected?"

"That's none of your business!" Marc snapped.

Mercy grabbed his hand and squeezed it gingerly, offering support. "Don't take it out on her, babe," she said. "She's not the one to blame."

"Right, sorry. I'm just frustrated because I can't do anything to stop it."

"I know how it feels to lose someone you care about," Anastasia said matter-of-factly.

"Family?"

"Yep. Saw the whole bloody thing, too."

"I'm sorry, that's awful." Mercy's expression softened. "I cannot imagine losing everyone and still having hope for the future."

"It's tough. But my brother survived, so that has to count for something."

Before she received a response, the door creaked open, and Elliot stepped into the room, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He snuffled, nodding to Marc. The sight was depressing, and Anastasia felt her heart skip a beat. But why would she feel sorry for the douchebag who shot her almost twice?

"You can go," Elliot said lowly. "But be quick about it. Luc said he doesn't have long."

Marc stood up to give Elliot his seat, storming out without a word; the latter whopped down, crossing his arms quietly. He didn't seem to be in the mood for a chat.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Mercy said, patting his shoulder. "Take your time, and let us know if you need company. Other than Anastasia, I mean."

"I will."

"Good. See you later, Sage."

"You too, Moskovitz."

As Mercy left, the room fell silent. Anastasia leaned back against the cold wall, feeling the irritation of the chains against her skin, and sighed. She stared into the distance, her eyes fixated on one point, letting her thoughts come to her naturally. But staying still for too long didn't seem appealing, so she squirmed on the bed now and then, causing Elliot to let out a frustrated groan.

"Could you stop that?!" he asked, his words snappy. "You're annoying me."

Everyone seemed moody today. Jeez.

"How do you expect me to get comfortable? I have fucking chains all over my body!" Anastasia shot back. The suppressed anger flared up. "I don't even know where I am!"

"In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles of forest."

"You're full of shit."

Elliot scoffed, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Thanks for the reminder. I'm sure you're a role model."

"I'm certainly not a good girl if that's what you're getting at."

"I don't care, for fuck's sake! Just be quiet."

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Oh wait, you already did."

"I swear to fucking God," Elliot shouted, standing up so fast he knocked the chair over. Grabbing Anastasia's face, he cupped her cheeks aggressively, his eyes sharp with rage. His touch felt like fire against her skin. "Shut your pretty mouth before I make you."

Anastasia attempted to engage in a staring contest with him while she carefully patted down his sweater, struggling to find the key to her freedom. Eventually, her fingers located the object, and she swiftly retrieved it, sliding it down her wrist with a sense of relief. Thank goodness they gave her a long-sleeve shirt; it perfectly concealed the key from view. Throughout the stare-off, the woman remained resolute despite Elliot's firm grip and the feeling of his breath on her lips. And before she had time to blink, he suddenly released her and withdrew. It appeared as though his anger had dissipated.

"Look, I've had a shitty day," he said, raking his fingers through his hair. "I'm not angry about you in particular. I've just lost a friend, and it's difficult to keep my emotions in check."

"I see."

"I'm sorry I shot you, okay? I can't take that back now. You stood up so fast, and I thought you were one of them. It was just instincts."

"I get that. If it were the other way around, I likely would've killed you in seconds."

Elliot managed a faint smile. "Glad things didn't work out that way."

"Yeah. So how are you holding up?" Anastasia asked, attempting to sound invested in their conversation. Her true intention, however, was to exploit his vulnerabilities before making her next move. As she kept him engaged, she worked her fingers around the chains, trying to unlock her shackles.

"How do you think? Not good at all. Tryst was like a brother to me."

"Shit. That makes things complicated," she sympathised, just as the chains fell to the ground with a clatter, the echo confusing the man.

With a deft movement, Anastasia freed herself, springing up from the bed like a skilled kangaroo. She launched forward to attack Elliot, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble backwards into the table. The force sent the plate of food crashing into the ground, making it slippery enough for the two to lose their balance. As they fell, Anastasia seised the tray, swinging it into Elliot's face.

"What the fuck?!" he shouted, quickly realising her intentions. He tried to pin her down, fingers gripping her waist possessively, but Anastasia fought to break free as she crawled towards the bed and retrieved the chains. Elliot groaned, "Ana, don't make this harder than it has to be!"

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "But I don't want to be a prisoner for the rest of my life."

Elliot let out a strangled cry as Anastasia coiled the chains around his neck. Despite his attempts to resist, she held firm and continued to apply pressure, knocking the air out of his lungs. As soon as his body relaxed into oblivion, she loosened her grip and let the metal fall to the ground. The familiar clattering echoed in the room, met by the thump of Elliot's heavy figure.

The woman felt a rush of adrenaline, her heart beating fast at the thought of freedom. She swung open the door without hesitation, barging through the place. She sped up to a jog, barefoot on the cold ground, and winced when the abdominal pain came back. But no matter the level of hurt, she pushed through, determined to secure her safety. Time was running out, and she couldn't afford to waste a single moment licking her wounds.

Anastasia kept going, corralling through the labyrinthine halls, uncertain about the layout of the building. She felt a fierce determination burning inside her, propelling the woman forward even as her body screamed for rest. Suddenly, she turned a corner and came face-to-face with two heavily armed guards, the sight stunning her. They stood by an elevator, their heads snapping at the sound of footfalls. She heard a click as their guns loaded, ready to fire at any moment.

One of them screamed. "Who's there?"

No response. The silence felt heavy and ominous.

Anastasia, reliant on her parkour skills, let out a battle cry and launched forward towards the guards. She ran up the wall, kicking her feet against their shoulders, then sprung up in the air to reach for one of the thinner pipes near the ceiling. The woman spun ahead once, twice, until she gained enough momentum to land at the belly of the window. And before the guards had time to turn around and pull her back, she jumped.

The glass exploded into tiny splinters, and Anastasia tumbled down into a patch of grass, the bushy surface cushioning her fall. Her palms pushed against the ground as she got up and breezed through the open field, the leaves brushing her skin.

The air filled with gunfire as the guards leaned out of the glassless window to shoot at the woman. Anastasia quickly sought cover behind anything she could find, holding her arms up to shield herself from the barrage of bullets. Albeit it was challenging, she navigated the battlefield and slipped away skilfully.

Upon venturing further from the camp, Anastasia decided to stop and assess her wound. It appeared the stitches had come undone, likely from her recent fall from the window, as blood had seeped through the bandage. But alas, she had nothing with her to readjust the coverage.

A twig snapped nearby; she had to keep moving.

The sun beat down as the woman trudged through the woods and left a red trail behind. The weed tickled her bare skin, and she ran, struggling until she no longer had the stamina to stay awake. Deep in the forest, her legs gave out, and she finally buckled beneath the weight. Anastasia's eyes shut tight as she found solace in the absence of pain. Her lips drew into a smile.

And then it was dark. 

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⋆˚★ ~

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1. ⠀ AUTHOR'S NOTE.

Welcome to the first chapter of Killer Instinct! I know we dived straight into the middle of it, but I'm sure you can tell I love torturing my characters. The tension is real. And we're just getting started! (' ᴗ｀✿) 

What do you think about Anastasia and Elliot? What about the others? Should I shorten the paragraphs a little? Please let me know your thoughts as it will help me improve my writing! I'd appreciate any and all feedback regarding the story. 

And lastly, thank you so much for giving my work a read! Your support means the world to me. See you in the next chapter! It will be a wild one. ♡