The sharp, metallic tang of dust filled Alex’s mouth, mingling with the coppery taste of fear. Pain was a blinding white sun behind his eyes, radiating from the shattered bone in his arm. He tried to push himself up with his good arm, his gaze fixed on Elena hovering above the wreckage of his life. Her silhouette against the moonlight seemed impossibly serene, a terrifying mismatch with the violence she’d just inflicted.

  "You know," Elena said, her voice a conversational murmur that barely reached him over the ringing in his ears, "I always thought you were weak, Alex. Letting people walk all over you." She idly reached for the metal bed frame. With a low groan, the metal contorted in her grip, folding in on itself like ribbon candy, ending in a jagged, vaguely floral shape. "See? Even your furniture is spineless."

  A soft whimper came from beside him. Clara stirred, pushing herself up slightly, her hand going to her head. Her eyes were wide with confusion and terror as she took in the impossible scene – the missing roof, the floating woman, Alex clutching his obviously broken arm.

  Elena’s gaze flickered towards Clara, a spark of irritation crossing her features for the first time. "Still conscious? You're tougher than you look. Or maybe," she added, tilting her head, "I just wasn't trying very hard."

  The air in the room seemed to drop several degrees, a sudden, unnatural chill that raised goosebumps on Alex’s skin despite the searing pain in his arm.

  "Elena, stop this," Alex managed, his voice hoarse. "Whatever I did, take it out on me. Leave her alone."

  Elena laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of warmth. "Oh, Alex. That's the part you still don't understand." She drifted closer, close enough now that he could see the faint, pulsing light deep within her irises. "This isn't about you anymore. Not exactly."

  She floated directly over Clara, looking down at her with that same chilling, analytical curiosity she’d shown Alex’s arm moments before. Clara flinched back, trying to make herself smaller against the debris.

  "The question is," Elena mused, tapping a finger against her chin as she regarded Clara, "what breaks more easily?" She looked back at Alex, pinning him with her gaze. "Her body... or your spirit?"

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  Alex’s remaining strength seemed to drain away, leaving only the cold dread and the throbbing agony in his arm. He could only watch, helpless, as Elena lowered her hand slowly towards Clara.

  Alex’s breath hitched. A strangled noise, half-protest, half-sob, caught in his throat. He could only watch, pinned by pain and helplessness, as Elena’s fingers drifted down towards Clara’s face. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, trembling visibly now, a tear tracing a path through the dust on her cheek.

  Just millimeters from Clara’s skin, Elena’s hand paused. The faint, internal light in her eyes seemed to brighten for a moment, and a slow, cruel smile spread across her lips. Alex’s good hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white, digging uselessly into the debris-strewn floor.

  Then, Elena chuckled softly, a sound utterly devoid of warmth that echoed slightly in the cold air. She drew her hand back.

  "No," she murmured, almost thoughtfully, turning her gaze back towards Alex. The shift in attention was whiplash-inducing. "Too simple. Too quick."

  She floated slightly higher, surveying the scene – the ruined room, the two figures huddled on the floor, the gaping hole revealing the deep, late-night sky outside. Midnight was settling outside, but here, time felt frozen, trapped in this bubble of terror.

  "Breaking bones is easy," Elena continued, her voice regaining that casual, conversational tone that was somehow more terrifying than shouting. "Anyone with enough force can do it. I could shatter every bone in her body before you could blink." She paused, letting the implication hang in the night air. "But where's the artistry in that?"

  She gestured vaguely around the room, before her gaze settled on Alex's trembling form. "Breaking your spirit, Alex... that requires finesse."

  Her glowing eyes locked onto his again. "It's about taking away not just what you have, but what you hope for. Making you understand, truly understand, that there's no escape. No rescue coming. No corner of your life, past, present, or future, that I can't reach."

  She smiled again, wider this time, showing teeth. "Don't worry," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, yet carrying perfectly in the stillness. "We have all the time in the world."

  The finality in her tone, the promise of prolonged torment rather than a swift end, settled over Alex like a shroud. The physical pain in his arm was a distant second to the icy wave of despair that washed through him. He looked at Clara, still trembling, and then back at the figure floating before him, a goddess of destruction wearing the face of the woman he once loved. All the time in the world. The words echoed, sealing their doom.