Ethan walked through the smoking ruins of the restaurant, his boots crunching over shattered crystal and twisted metal. The air reeked of ozone and charred flesh. He stopped in front of Sarah, who remained huddled in her chair, her eyes wide and her face as pale as wax. The pink aura that had once emanated seduction was now a thin, vibrating thread of pure terror.
"Let's go," said Ethan, extending his hand.
Sarah looked at the carnage around her—men who minutes ago were professional waiters were now nothing more than blackened heaps on the floor. She didn't say a word; fear had stolen her voice. She took Ethan's hand with trembling fingers, stood up, and walked by his side, allowing herself to be led like an automaton toward the exit.
