Thomas wasn't a fool.
He'd seen enough death to know when it was creeping up behind him, whispering cold promises in his ear.
He turned and ran without hesitation, instincts overriding pride, training overriding fear. Survival first—questions later.
But he didn't get far.
He had barely taken his third step when his body stopped. Just… stopped. It wasn't fatigue.
It wasn't injury. It was as though invisible chains had wrapped around his limbs mid-motion and pulled tight.
He tried again—his mind screamed, muscles flexed—but it was like trying to push a mountain with bare hands.
Immovable. Absolute. Panic fluttered in his chest, but he crushed it down, forcing himself to stay composed. Struggling was useless now.
So he did the only thing he could—he turned his eyes, slowly, carefully, back to the monster behind him.
And that was what Ross had become. No longer a man.
