The low lamplight softened the edges of the bedroom, turning everything warm and hazy. Clara’s scent, something like vanilla and night-blooming jasmine, filled Alex’s senses as he led her towards the bed. Her hand felt small and warm in his. He drew her close, her lips meeting his, soft and yielding. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of anticipation and affection that drowned out the quiet city sounds beyond the window.

  Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, a slight tremor in her touch that mirrored his own. He slid the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders, the silk whispering against her skin. The air crackled with unspoken promises, with the comfortable, electric intimacy they had built together. He leaned in again, losing himself in the kiss, in the closeness, the world narrowing to just this room, just her…

  CRRAAAACK-SCREEEECH!

  The sound was apocalyptic. Not thunder, but something worse – the tortured scream of wood splintering, plaster exploding, metal shearing. Dust and debris rained down, coating everything in a grey film. Alex threw himself over Clara protectively as the ceiling vanished, ripped away like paper, revealing the cold, star-pricked night sky above.

  Hovering there, silhouetted against the moon, was a figure that turned Alex’s blood to ice. Elena. His ex. But not the Elena he knew. This Elena floated effortlessly, eyes glowing with a faint, internal light, a chillingly serene smile playing on her lips. Power radiated from her like heat off asphalt.

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  "Well, well," Elena's voice, amplified slightly, drifted down. "Looks like I'm interrupting something."

  Before Alex could react, Elena flew down and plucked him and Clara from the bed, suspending them mid-air amidst the swirling dust. They were completely helpless, limbs flailing uselessly. Clara screamed, raw terror in the sound.

  Elena descended slowly, landing silently on the debris-strewn floor while holding Alex and Clara up by their throats. She watched them like a shark, her smile widening. "I hate how good that dress looks on you, dear." With a flick of her wrist, Clara was sent hurtling sideways, crashing into the far wall with a sickening thud. She slumped to the floor, motionless except for a low moan.

  "Clara!" Alex struggled against the immovable arm holding him up.

  "Oh, don't worry about her," Elena said, turning her attention to Alex. Her other hand reached out, fingers closing around his right arm with impossible strength. "Remember how you always said I held on too tight?"

  The pressure started, steady and inhuman. Alex felt the familiar creak begin within his bone, the prelude to agony. "Elena, please—"

  CRACK!

  The sound echoed in the ruined room. Blinding pain flared through Alex’s arm as it went limp, hanging at a dead, unnatural angle. Nausea surged, blurring his vision. Elena released him, letting him drop heavily to the floor beside the still-dazed Clara.

  He looked up through waves of pain at his ex-girlfriend, floating inches above the floor, bathed in moonlight pouring through the hole where his roof used to be. Her expression wasn't angry; it was one of detached, curious amusement. Like a child discovering how easily a toy could be broken. The real horror wasn't just the pain or the power – it was the absolute certainty that this was only the beginning.