Chapter 20
ALEX
Millie’s still finishing her moules marinière when she announces she’s heading to Aymon to see a movie with her friends.
“I’ll drive you,” Eva says immediately.
Millie shoots her a look. “It’s a ten-minute walk in broad daylight to the bus stop where I’m meeting my friends. I have my phone. I’ll be fine.”
Eva opens her mouth, but I slide my hand under the table and give her knee a quick press. Not hard—just enough to say, Let her go.
She exhales. “All right.”
Millie beams as if she won a diplomatic coup.
“Text your mom when you get there,” I say.
She nods. “Deal.”
“Will you be home by dinnertime?” Eva asks.
“Yes!” She’s gone a minute later, delighted with her slice of independence.
Eva watches the door, a faint crease between her brows. I lift my hand from her knee before she overthinks it.
“Thank you, Stéphanie,” Eva says to the cook as we stand.
“Delicious as always,” I add.
We leave the dining room together, walking side by side toward the corridor.
“You know—” I begin.
“I was thinking about—” she starts at the same time.
I blink at her. “Go ahead.”
She tilts her head. “I was thinking we should check the crack in the second dungeon.”
I grin. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
Her mouth quirks as if she’s wondering if I’m serious. I am, though maybe not entirely for her reasons. But until I know for sure, I play along.
“There were also weird noises,” I say, listing with my fingers, “an odd smell, scuff marks on the wall… I’d say that’s worth a look.”
She nods. “You’re observant. It could be structural damage needing repair.”
“Urgent repair,” I echo, keeping my tone as innocent as I can.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re thinking about your quickie proposal from earlier, aren’t you?”
“One hundred percent,” I admit.
Her lips part in mock outrage. “And here I was taking this seriously.”
“Oh, I’m serious, too.”
She rolls her eyes but heads toward the old wing. I fall in step with her, my hands in my pockets.
Fort Vauclairt feels quieter with Millie gone and half the staff off for the weekend. It’s the kind of quiet that lets you hear the low hum of the ancient wiring and the muted creaks of the floor under our feet.
“You really think it might be something?” I ask.
“The crack?” She shrugs. “Probably nothing. But I can’t explain the smell or the noises.”
I lower my voice conspiratorially. “Yeah, noises in old stone buildings are never just the wind.”
She shoots me a sidelong glance. “You’re not helping.”
“Not trying to.”
She grins. I smile back, realizing I’ve never felt this playful, or flirted this outrageously in my thirty-nine years.
What can I say, I’m a late bloomer.
We turn into the cold, narrow corridor leading to the stairwell. I’m already thinking about how tight the dungeon will be, how close she’ll be to me, how easy it’ll be to—
We’re here to inspect the crack, I remind myself. Allegedly.
The stairwell is a shadow pit. The overhead bulb is dead. I switch on the flashlight and sweep it over the narrow steps.
“Watch your footing,” I say to Eva, offering my free hand.
She takes it. Her grip is a little tense. I resist the urge to caress the tension out of her.
We start down slowly. The stones are uneven. The railing wobbles if leaned on too hard. I keep the beam steady ahead.
Finally, we’re at the trapdoor. I pull the folded ladder from its brackets and let it down. The wood creaks but holds as I step onto the first rung.
“If this thing collapses,” I say, “you can gloat from above.”
“Oh, I will.”
I shift my weight, testing the ladder that feels wobblier than it did last night.
The flashlight beam slices through dust motes swirling in stale air.
My boots find each rung carefully, the metal cool and slightly damp under my grip.
When I hit the stone floor, and the sound echoes.
I sweep the light in a slow arc—low ceiling, uneven flagstone, shadows clinging to the walls.
“Clear,” I call up.
She descends cautiously. The ladder sways once, but she steadies herself without looking down. Her breath puffs white in the chill. Down here the air isn’t just cold, it presses in heavy with damp stone and the faint tang of rust. It doesn't smell of pine smoke, like yesterday.
Somewhere above a slow drip measures the silence.
We start across the dungeon. Every step rings out, bouncing off walls steeped in history. The dusty wine crates loom ahead. The crack we spotted yesterday is just behind them.
“Still betting it’s nothing?” Eva asks.
“Still.”
“You were more concerned earlier,” she points out.
“I’ve reconsidered. Now I’m leaning toward a perfectly harmless structural flaw.”
Her mouth tilts. “That wasn’t a very convincing delivery.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
We reach the crack. The flashlight catches the jagged outline in the stone. I step closer, keeping the beam tight on it. It’s wider than I remember. Not just a crack. More like… an edge. I press my fingers to it. The surface is colder here. Different.
“This isn’t right,” I murmur.
She shifts beside me. “What do you mean?”
I push, gently at first. The stone shudders under my hand. Something inside grinds. A hollow sound.
Eva’s eyes widen. “That’s—”
“A door,” I finish.
I step back and glance at her. “Want to open it?”
“You found it. You open it.”
I brace my shoulder against the frame. It resists but then moves with a drawn-out groan, dust spilling into the beam. The smell that escapes is dank and metallic, edged with something sharp.
The opening yawns into a narrow passage, sloping downward into black.
“Wow.” She leans forward and peers in. “This is insane.”
“I’m assuming you had no clue?”
She shakes her head. “In sixteen years, I never—” She stops. “How far do you think it goes?”
I meet her eyes. “Let’s find out.”
We step inside. The walls close in fast, consisting of rough stone that’s slick in places. Cobwebs snag my sleeve. Droplets cling to the rock and catch the beam.
“It smells…” She tilts her head. “Like wet rock and… something else.”
“Rodent droppings,” I say.
She grimaces. “Yikes.”
I angle the flashlight down. “Watch your step.”
Something small darts across the beam and disappears into the dark.
“Rat,” I say.
“Thank you for confirming my nightmares,” she mutters.
We move slowly. The ceiling drops in places, forcing us to duck. Our boots scrape over grit and loose pebbles. The sound bounces back, mingled with an intermittent drip. The air grows cooler the farther we go, but it’s not stale. This place has a faint current as if it’s breathing.
“How old do you think this is?” she asks.
“Centuries. The stonework’s crude but effective. Whoever built it knew what they were doing.”
We pass a rotted wooden crate half buried in debris. The edges crumble under my touch.
“Empty,” I report.
“Disappointed?”
“Only that it wasn’t full of gold.”
She snorts. “Treasure hunter wasn’t in your official bio.”
“Neither was exploring secret tunnels, but here we are.”
The slope tilts upward. The damp smell gives way to something fresher—earth and pine.
“Smells like we’re close to the surface,” I say.
A few more meters, and the stone narrows to a tight arch. The passage ends in another wooden panel, this one rougher than the first. I brace my hands and push. It sticks for a second before it shifts, causing the hinges to squeal.
A wash of daylight hits my eyes. I blink, squinting into green.
We step out onto a wooded slope, the air sharp with pine and moss. Birdsong filters through the trees. Downhill about fifty meters away, something breaks the pattern of trunks and undergrowth. It’s a man-made structure, weathered and sagging.
Eva tilts her head. “Is that… a cabin?”
“Looks like it.” I follow her gaze. “A hunting lodge?”
She frowns. “If it is, no one ever told me. And I’ve walked this slope before.”
We pick our way down, branches snagging our clothes. The structure resolves into a long, low lodge with a stone base and timber upper level. Its shutters hang askew. One wall bears the faded ghost of painted letters; their meaning lost to time.
“Charming,” I say. “Needs a little work.”
“This isn’t on the estate maps,” she mutters, eyeing it. “Why would Geoffroy never mention it?”
“No idea.” I point through the trees. “That’s the old service track running up to the ridge.”
“Oh, then this must be where Geoffroy wanted to build his luxury resort.” Her eyes meet mine. “You think he knew about the tunnel?”
“Hard to say.”
We stand there for a moment, listening. The place is quiet except for the wind in the trees. I look up toward the tunnel exit. From here, you’d never guess it was anything more than an overgrown patch of hillside.
My mind turns over the possibilities. Could the tunnel be an old escape passage? A secret supply line during a siege? Both?
I jerk my chin toward the cabin. “Want to check inside?”
She hesitates. “Fine. But just a look.”
I take it she’s not keen on a quick romp in this run-down place.
We’ll see about that.