At three o'clock in the morning, the air was as thick as solidified asphalt.
Su Wan opened his eyes at the moment when the strange sound came. His retinas had not yet adapted to the darkness, and his body had already completed a tactical roll before his consciousness - from the mattress to the blind spot in the corner of the wall. At two point seven seconds, his breathing pressure reached the lowest level.
His right hand touched under the pillow, and the cold metal touch came, and the grip pattern of Beretta 92FS was embedded in the palm of his hand.
The index and middle fingers of his left hand silently touched the floor, feeling the vibration.
No steps, no breath, no heartbeat.
But the voice continued.
Squeak - squeak -
It was as if a rusty hinge was being slowly twisted by invisible hands, or as if fingernails were repeatedly scratching some kind of thin metal plate.
The source of the sound was not outside the door or outside the window, but echoed directly inside her skull, with a certain wet echo.
She didn't move, her pupils dilating in the darkness like a nocturnal animal.
The safe house is temporarily rented, on the top floor, in an old tube building, with a structure of one staircase and one household.
