The destruction of the Maestro bought me seconds—no more.
The roses had reached the balconies now, crawling over the railings like veins. Their petals glistened with dew that smelled of iron. Where the thorns struck marble, the stone blackened, veins spreading outward like frost.
The main doors behind me groaned. I turned.
They were closing.
No, not closing—being sealed. The wood warped, bending inward like it was being drawn toward something unseen.
I ran. The water was knee-deep now, rippling with the tremor of something beneath the surface.
I made it to the foyer just as the last sliver of open doorway narrowed.
Something brushed my ankle.
I didn't look. I dove through the gap.
The moment I hit the street outside, the doors slammed shut with a sound like a coffin sealing. The roses on the outer wall began to spread faster, covering the facade in a matter of seconds.
Behind those walls, I could still hear the Maestro's final note.
And under it, something else—fainter, but growing louder.
Tick. Tick. Tick.