Leya's breathing ceased at that door. There was a mass that had rested there on her chest. The door had been creeping and reeling on the opposite side, but whatever lay there was bearing against no segment of the door. It's not screaming.

It's waiting.

She shook with fear.

Her head spun. It wasn't Harrison, for he'd have already flung open the door, firing piercing asides like barbs. But this one had a brooding air—brooding as if he survived her ...