Round 7

The kitchen hallway was bathed in darkness, the only sound the heavy breathing of Jeane as she stood frozen, poker clutched tightly in both hands. The brass lamp on the side table seemed to mock her, its cool metal a stark contrast to the sweat that beaded on her palm. Behind her, the low male grunt echoed through the hallway, followed by the crashing against the counter, the air vibrating with tension as every creak of the old house made her jump.

The Force moved silently, pressing her back against the doorframe beside the kitchen, her eyes scanning the floor for any sign of movement. The flashlight beam swept the floor again, wider this time, searching for any sign of Jeane. She was in there, and The Force could feel it - the way she breathed too fast, too loudly, like an amateur trying to hide her fear. The poker leaned against the fireplace, a heavy weight that would come in handy if Jeane came her way. The Force's hands were full with knives, but she had firearms too, and she knew exactly how to use them.