The sound was sickening, listening to each hit Abby did to Joel with that golf club. Nobody could bear to hear it anymore. Mel couldn't even look directly at Abby.

The room stank of blood and sweat, the heavy thud of the club echoing off the concrete walls. Owen shifted uncomfortably by the door, his hands twitching at his sides, but he said nothing. Nobody dared to.

You could feel it building — the way Abby was losing herself, each swing coming harder, more desperate, like she was trying to erase something no one else could see. Joel barely moved anymore, a broken mess at her feet.

You stepped forward before you could stop yourself, heart pounding, the raw anger and grief in the room clinging to your skin like smoke.

"Abby." you finally spoke, voice sharp.

She didn’t react—didn’t even look up—just raised the club again.

You moved faster this time, reaching out and grabbing her wrist mid-swing. She froze at the contact, her breath ragged, her whole body trembling under your grip. For a moment, it felt like she might rip herself free and finish it—but then her fingers loosened around the handle, the club slipping from her hands and clattering to the ground.

Her chest heaved as she finally looked at you, her expression shattered—some twisted mix of triumph and guilt.

The room was dead silent, the only sound the soft patter of blood dripping from Joel’s broken body onto the floor.

"Get your shit, more people are making their way here."