Tick tock, tick tock.
In the humid and dark basement, the air is filled with a salty smell. It is far from the smell of sunshine that is out of the city, but more like the smell of salted seafood lying in the market overnight.
It's even mixed with the smell of some more secret places - the smell of decay, just like the strange smell emitted by a dying old man in his last moments.
In addition to the sound of dripping water, a woman's sobs could also be heard faintly in the empty room. She seemed to have been crying for a long time and was unable to make a louder sound.
The door opens.
Rare light leaked from the crack in the door. The woman's pupils shrank instinctively, then she opened her mouth and looked at the door, regardless of the change in light that almost burned her eye membranes - she was looking forward to something, but at the same time she was afraid of something.
A tied-up man stumbled down the stairs, looking like he might collapse to the ground at any moment. He was described as haggard and his breathing was weak, so that the woman almost did not recognize the man she had been with day and night, but she was certain that he was still alive.
But her gaze didn't stay too long, but went up, and up... to the top of the steps.
Then he saw that familiar figure.
At the end of the light, after leaving the tied man behind, he attached his hand to the basement door.
The woman wanted to speak, but she was so hoarse that she couldn't make a sound, so she had to stretch her throat and make a few trembling mouth movements.
The man who was bound by the rope finally couldn't support the balance of his body in the bound and twisted posture. He fell to the ground and moved forward desperately like a maggot, trying to get away from the shadow or get closer to the only one who could be considered "the same kind". woman.
That person saw it, she thought, despair tinged with a last glimmer of hope.
But Shadow didn't look back, or even hesitate.
As the man gasped for breath, the last trace of light disappeared in the room.
