Page 103 of Serpent King's Revenge

"Another fire," the taller one muttered, pulling the phone from his pocket and scanning the message. A frown creased his brow.

"Damn it," the other spat out, shoving the device back into his pocket. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here dealing with a sick woman and her worried man. "We don't have time for this. You, come with me.”

He reached for Abby, who allowed him to take her by the arm. She let out a convincing gag; even I wasn’t sure if she was actually sick.

"Take care of her," I said, nodding toward Abby. The shorter guy gave a short nod and motioned Abby down the opposite hall.

As she walked away, her eyes held mine for just a moment—enough to say everything that needed saying without a single word. For a second, the world around us faded—the guns, the tension, the smell of fear that hung thick in the air, all of it gone.

It was just me and her, a silent conversation passing between us.

A quiet goodbye.

The taller guy nudged me forward. "Move," he barked, breaking the spell. I glanced back at Abby as she was led away by the other guard, her steps staggering as she maintained her act.

Even if I wasn’t able to get out of this…she would save Lily and escape.

And if all went according to plan, we would see each other again.

I had to believe that.

The guard's grip was firm on my shoulder as he ushered me through the familiar, yet foreign, halls of my childhood home. It felt like a lifetime since I'd last set foot in this place—though it couldn't have been more than a few months. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

I glanced at the dining table as we passed. The remnants of my mother's last supper still sat there, the plates now hosting a swarm of flies that buzzed around the rotten scraps. A shiver ran down my back, but not from the sight alone—it was the memories that lurked beneath the surface, the ones I fought to keep at bay every waking moment. It was like the shiny veneer had finally vanished from this house.

This was what had been rotten underneath the whole time.

"Keep moving," the guard grunted, jolting me back into the present.

As we continued, I noted the chaos that had overtaken the house. Furniture was upended, glass from shattered frames crunched underfoot, and a thick layer of dust coated everything. Pictures were torn from the wall, family photos destroyed.

But what caught my eye was the splash of blood staining the beige carpet—a stark reminder of the violence that had preceded my mother’s death. I heard Ma’s voice in my ears, begging me to save her children.

She’d fought him. Tried to get away.

The mess wasn’t like my father, even if the violence was. No matter how twisted things got, Kenny Zhou always maintained a veneer of control. But now, with splintered wood and debris littering the floor, it was clear that the man who prided himself on his meticulous nature was losing his grip.

The thought should've brought me some satisfaction, but all I felt was an increasing sense of dread for what lay ahead.

"Where is he?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"Quiet," was the only reply I received as we approached the staircase leading down to where real horrors waited. My heart pounded harder with each step, the stale air growing thicker, the past and present intertwining like shadows in the dim light.

The library was quiet as the guard nudged me through it. The room once held a sense of order, a stark difference from the chaos that had overtaken the rest of the house. But now, the smell hit me—a mix of must and decay…and copper, meat. I knew what lay beyond the heavy door at the end of the book-lined corridor.

"Down," the guard commanded, his voice low. We descended the narrow staircase, the steps creaking under our weight.

We were going to the kill room.

When we reached the foot of the stairs, I stopped dead in my tracks. The stench of old blood and fear soaked the air. The floor was stained dark, with rusty smudges on the walls where life had been dragged out of too many souls. Torture tools, once meticulously cleaned and put away, were now left dirty and scattered.

"Move," the guard growled.

I stepped over a small puddle that looked ominously like dried blood. In the middle of the room, under the dim light, sat Knuckles. He was tied to a chair, looking worse for wear. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second before dropping back down—defeated, waiting for whatever came next.

And for a moment, it wasn't him in that chair—it was her. Ma, helpless, her eyes defiant even in her final moments. My chest tightened, air clawing its way in and out of my lungs too fast. I fought the rise of panic, forcing myself to stay present, stay focused.

In…out…breathe…

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