George’s hushed conversation
George’s quiet conversation did nothing to reassure Martha. She could only make out fragments: “Yes, it’s serious… No, I don’t know what it is.” His voice was low, nearly drowned out by the pounding of her own heart and the constant thud of the creature beneath the glass. She focused every ounce of her attention on keeping the trap sealed, her mind blocking out everything else.
But her grip was failing fast, her arms trembling from the effort. “George!” she shouted, breaking his trance and forcing him to look up. His eyes widened in alarm as he rushed back toward her. “They’re on their way,” he said again, but the delay felt unbearable. Martha nodded weakly, knowing each second was one too long.
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