The ceiling kept falling.
Not in full collapse, but in chunks—varying sizes of stone and boulder raining down like punishment.
Some hit hard, scattering debris in thick clouds of dust. Others cracked into pieces midair, bouncing once, twice, then rolling into stillness with the weight of a dropped sentence.
**KRMMM—KRKK—WHUMPH**
Agent Hathaway lay prone, the boulder still pinning what was left of his foot. Pain rolled through him in violent pulses.
Sweat mixed with grime across his brow. Every breath hitched in his chest like it had to fight its way out.
This was it. This was where it ended.
Then—**CRK—SPLRT**
Don smashed through another lunging creature without slowing, its skull crumpling beneath his punch like wet plasterboard. He turned, eyes immediately scanning the falling debris, and sprinted back toward Hathaway.
At the same time, Charles dove.
His wings cut through the dust as he descended fast, arcing sharply midair.
He didn't aim for the creatures.
