I slammed into the bathroom as soon as David was gone, the backpack he’d thrown at me banging against my thigh.

The place looked like it had seen its fair share of drug usage, drunks, and potential deaths in the bathtub. The tiles were a dull, sickly mint green, cracked in the corners, and stained darker around the edges where the grout had become more mold than grout. The tub itself had that permanent gray ring around it like no amount of scrubbing had ever really touched it, and the shower curtain—thin, yellowed plastic—clung slightly to the side like it didn’t trust gravity to do its job anymore.

The air smelled wrong. Damp. Metallic. Like rust and cheap cleaner fighting a losing battle.

I dropped the backpack on the counter and braced myself against the sink, staring at my reflection for a second before my attention dragged lower, to the wound David had carved into my side. It hadn’t felt deep, but the skin around it had gone tight and flushed, an ugly, inflamed red spreading outward. And faint, branching lines spread out from the wound itself.

The first thought that came to mind was "poisoned." But I didn’t think David had reason enough to poison someone he barely knew. Unless he really was that psycho.

I sucked in a sharp breath, fingers hovering just above it, before I cursed and ripped open the backpack.

The zipper snagged halfway.

“Come on—” I hissed, yanking harder until it gave with a sharp rip. Inside, there were clothes, clean and folded, some sweats, and a Ratt T-shirt. And a small kit shoved into the corner, which I grabbed and dumped onto the counter. Gauze, tape, a small bottle of antiseptic, and a Butterfinger candy bar. My clothes were bloody and singed from the car blowing up last night

Fuck you, David.

I ripped open the candy bar and stuck it in my mouth while I worked on cleaning my wound. Twisted the cap off the antiseptic and poured some onto the wad of gauze. The sharp, chemical smell cut through everything in an instant. Then I pressed it into the wound. 

Pain exploded through my side, a violent, electric burn that shot through my ribs. I spit out half my candy bar into the sink, and a broken sound ripped out of my throat. “Fuck—!” I slammed my fist down on the sink hard enough to rattle the pipes, took in a few deep breaths through my nose, and tried to pull my head back into place.

“Okay,” I whispered, eyes squeezed shut, gripping the edge of the sink like it was a lifeline. “Okay, Mike. You’re fine. This is totally fine.”

I knew it wasn’t, but I didn’t have another choice; it was either run crying back to Idaho, which wasn’t happening, or beat the answers out of David and figure out what the hell was going on in Astoria. So I yanked on the sweats and pushed out of the bathroom.

The room looked even more like a crime scene now that I was awake. Clothes everywhere, sheets twisted, something sticky on the nightstand I refused to identify. My head throbbed in time with my ribs, but I moved anyway, grabbing what I needed on instinct: a lighter, half-empty pack of cigs, my jacket.

I shoved everything into the backpack as I went, not even organizing, just moving. Get ready, get out, and deal with the psychopaths waiting for me outside. 

My hand dipped back into the bag to make sure I hadn’t missed anything…and something metal clanked. “What the fuck?” 

I dug deeper and pulled it out. At first, it looked like a compact metal rod, black, matte, about the length of my forearm when collapsed. Heavy for its size and balanced. Against my better judgment, I turned it in my hand, thumb brushing over a small ridge near the grip. Then flicked the little mechanism on the side without thinking. 

The thing snapped open with a sharp, mechanical shhk, extending in one smooth motion, segments locking into place with a series of clean, precise clicks before a blade slid out with it. Holy fucking shit. 

—

The motel door creaked when I finally stepped outside, a light patter of rain hitting the back of my neck. This place always seemed cold and wet. Like the sun was miles away. 

Water dripped steadily from the overhang above me, tapping against the cracked pavement in uneven rhythms. The air smelled like damp asphalt, salt, and rust. 

I skimmed the parking lot before catching sight of David, who stood at the far end of the lot, rain barely touching him under the edge of a rusty awning, posture loose. Nothing seemed to shake this guy. One hand rested against the hood of an old Chevrolet, fingers tapping boredly until I came out, then he straightened. 

Across from him, Marko leaned nearby, hood up, blonde hair damp where it had escaped, curls darkening slightly with the rain. He looked up when I stepped out, eyes dragging over me with that same sharp, amused curiosity. “Wow,” he said, voice carrying easy through the drizzle. “You actually came back out. Thought maybe you’d climb out the bathroom window or something.”

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I walked straight toward David, dropping the bag hard against my leg. “Cut the shit,” I said. “You want to fight me? That it? Did I piss too close to your territory?” I yanked the zipper down and reached inside, pulling the weapon back out and flicking it open again, that shhk sound cutting clean through the quiet of the parking lot. 

The blade locked into place, catching what little light there was. Rain dotted along the metal, beading and sliding off in slow, uneven lines.

I raised the blade to David’s throat and held it there at his pulse point. “Because if that’s what this is,” I went on, my voice lowering, “You could’ve just said so instead of…making me sleep with one of your guys.” I jerked my chin slightly toward Marko. “Drugging me, setting me up with someone, handing me a weapon like I’m supposed to just…what? Play along with your stupid game?”

"Who said anything about drugging you?" David replied and squinted at me. "And I did not set you up. We spoke of this already. You fucked Marko. Perhaps eat his lucious ass. I did not have hand in this, Michael."

"Oh, fuck off," I replied, teeth gritted. 

Marko let out a quiet whistle. “Damn,” he muttered. “He woke up spicy.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, not even looking at him. 

The blade stayed pressed to David’s throat, but he didn’t even bother glancing down. Instead, his eyes stayed focused on mine. “You are shaking,” he pointed out. 

That pissed me off more than anything. “I’m not—” I snapped and thrust the blade harder against his throat. “Start talking before I gut you in the middle of this stinking parking lot!”

David held his hands up. Rain tapped harder against his shoulders, slid down the line of his jaw, and caught briefly at the hollow of his throat, right where my blade rested. One wrong move and it would open him up. 

“That thing that destroyed your car last night,” he said, “It wasn’t me.” 

I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah? You expect me to just buy that crap?”

“You should,” Marko cut in, losing his sharp edge of humor and going all serious on me. “Because if it was him, you wouldn’t have walked away from that car last night.”

I didn’t look at him, but I lowered the blade slightly from where I had it pressed against David’s throat. “Then what was it?” I demanded. 

David’s eyes flicked briefly, just over my shoulder. And that’s all the warning I got. 

Marko straightened up, the slouchy lean and smirk on his face vanishing in seconds. “David,” he said, voice low. 

“I know,” David replied, “I have never seen one out this early.”

I felt the air change, something heavier pressing in, like a fog rolling through and sidling up next to my lungs. Then, metal screamed from behind me. 

I turned around in time to see the fog at the far end of the lot as it twisted and split. And something dragged itself forward from inside it. Long, black, and wet. A tendril slammed into a parked car, caving the door in like wet paper. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.

“Da,” David said from behind me. “Now you see.” 

Another tendril snapped towards us at lighting speed. I think I screamed or maybe pissed myself. Maybe both, thinking back on it. 

“Marko! Dvizhaysya!” David barked at him in Russian.

“Finally,” Marko muttered, and then he moved, running right past me. He ducked under the incoming tendril like it was nothing, boots skidding across wet pavement, and whipped something out from where he had it strapped to his back. A weapon, but not like mine, all straight-edge and snap-open brutality. It was shorter and heavier at the base, and the edge curved slightly inward like a hooked crescent. Blackened metal with faint etched lines along the spine caught the light wrong, not decorative, but like they were meant for something.

Another tendril flicked out from the fog, but Marko just grinned and rushed forward. The blade came up in his grip with a smooth, practiced motion, and he caught the tentacle on the inside curve of the blade, hooking it, then twisting hard.

A wet, tearing sound followed, like something being pulled inside out. The tendril jerked violently, trying to recoil, but Marko followed it, keeping his hooked blade locked in place. “Got you, mother fucker,” he muttered. Then he yanked.

The tentacle came apart with a violent snap, black fluid spraying across the sleeve and my face.

I jerked back, weapon tightening in my hand, but David grabbed me before I could start swinging like crazy, one hand gripping my wrist.“We go now,” he said curtly, “Before you lose eye.”

“Wait. What?”

No answer.

No hesitation.

Like I was the slowest variable in a problem that was already trying to kill us.

Behind us, Marko was still out there in the mist somewhere, moving through it like he belonged to it more than it belonged to anything else. The sound of him cutting through the fog came in bursts, boots on wet pavement, something snapping, a low laugh that didn’t belong in anything remotely normal.

“Marko—” I started again, twisting slightly against David’s grip, trying to see past the car, past the shifting white haze. “He’s out there, alone.”

David hauled me forward across the parking lot. “He’ll be fine,” he said immediately. “Marko chose to be out there,” he continued, voice tightening now as another tendril snapped somewhere behind us, closer than the last. “It's like kids birthday party. Marko shows up. Makes big mess. Eats something he should not. Kills clown...maybe two."

What. The. Fuck.

Another crash echoed out of the fog, something heavy hitting the ground, metal screaming in protest. Then Marko again, cackling like crazy with that stupid fucking laugh of his. “YEAH!” he called out. “COME ON, THEN!”

“We are not staying to watch party,” David continued. “We leave before clowns arrive."

Another tendril sliced through the air behind us, close enough that I felt it cut the wind across my back like a warning shot. “Move,” David grabbed me by the back of my jacket and dragged me away. “Now.”