She took a step down, the old wood creaking under her weight.

“I know you’re awake,” Evelyn said, her voice dropping to a low, mocking tone. “Marcus is weak, but I’m not.”

She took another step down.

She held a small silver pistol in her right hand, her finger resting on the trigger.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I gripped the iron pipe tighter, my bloody fingers slipping slightly on the cold metal.

If I struck her, I had to make it count.

If I missed, she would shoot me without hesitation.

“We really did try to make it easy for you,” Evelyn said, descending further into the cellar. “But Marcus insists on being sentimental.”

She reached the bottom of the stairs, her back turned to my hiding spot.

She looked toward the corner where I had been tied up.

The empty chair and the broken zip-ties lay in the dim light.

Her body tensed.

“Marcus!” she screamed.

Before she could turn around, I lunged out of the darkness.

I swung the iron pipe with all the strength I had left, aiming for her hand.