Page 89 of Primal

Kristy screams. I can’t. Mouth’s full of cotton.

No Regerts whirls around. Same agonized wheeze—punctuated by liquid pops.

Same wide eyes pleading. ‘Help me.’

Same gaping slash across the neck.

He claws at his throat—just like Jessica.

Make it stop. Someone make it fucking stop.

His fingers grab for my hoodie.

I stumble back one step—out of reach.

No Regerts crumples to the floor.

“Found the glitch,” Derek—or Steve—murmurs, wiping something on his jeans. A box cutter.

“Man, timing really is everything.” He tilts his head, that smile still in place. “Where were we?”

Kristy scrambles to my side, breath ragged. “Payton …”

Her hand clamps down on mine. Canister slips. Fuck.

It rolls under the desk. Gone.

That’s when I see it.

A boot. Sticking out.

The guy’s half-crammed underneath, jaw slack, eyes wide.

“Ah. You found Nate. Always in the way.” Derek glances at the blood pooling near the monitors. “Justin … never much of a team player.”

Nate was already dead when we got here. No wonder the AC’s on full blast.

“Run,” I choke out to Kristy.

We bolt toward the exit—

The door slams shut.

Kristy yanks the handle. “I-it’s stuck.”

“Locked,” Derek corrects. “Admin override.”

Kristy wheels around, keys jutting between her knuckles.

He tsks. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

Pepper spray’s still under the desk—half-hidden near Nate’s outstretched leg. I dive for it.

I scramble upright, canister raised. “Wh-what do you want?”

Derek smirks, turning to the keyboard. “An audience. Every show deserves one.”

Monitors flicker to life—