CHAPTER 11 ROHAN
ROHAN
F ive minutes to go. Rohan tracked the game makers. Soon, the four of them began to assemble in front of the bonfire. Backlit, Avery Grambs and her Hawthornes stood shoulder to shoulder.
“Listen up, y’all,” Nash said. The fire crackled as the players went instantly silent. “There are a few things you’ll want to know before those timers on your watches hit zero,” Nash continued, and then he glanced at Avery, and she took over.
“If part one of this year’s game was the Grandest Escape Room,” the Hawthorne heiress announced, “you can think of part two as the Grandest Race—clue to clue to clue.”
“No shortcuts,” Jameson declared, his left hand finding its way to Avery’s right.
“Each puzzle you solve will lead you to a new clue. Before you take possession of any such clue, you’ll have to sign for it.
You’ll find an electronic ledger at each stop.
Hold your watch up to the ledger, and your name will appear on the page. ”
“You must sign the ledgers—all of them—in the order in which they appear in the game,” Avery said. “First one to sign all of the ledgers, make it to the end, and complete the final puzzle wins.”
What Rohan heard Avery saying was: It would be unfortunate if any player were to lose their watch.
“For any friends of Machiavelli among you…” Xander Hawthorne raised one eyebrow to ridiculous heights. “Allow me to stipulate that there is to be no watch-thievery, watch-tampering, or watch-shenanigans-not-otherwise-specified of any kind.”
Friend of Machiavelli. Rohan had been called worse.
“If an emergency arises”—Jameson, again—“you can use your watch to contact us. Touch the spade, and you can send the four of us a message at any time.”
“You’ll be wanting to make as much progress as you can before midnight,” Nash advised, and Rohan flashed back to the cowboy drawling other words. It’s not gonna be you.
Our games have heart, Nash Hawthorne had told Rohan. It ain’t gonna be you, kid.
“What happens at midnight?” Savannah asked.
“What doesn’t happen at midnight?” Xander replied. “But hypothetically, if you receive a message from us at around that time, you’ll want to do exactly what it says.”
It was nearly seven now. Midnight was a little over five hours away. Less than a minute left on the countdown.
“Look around,” Avery told the players. “Only one of you can win this year’s Grandest Game, but in a very real sense, none of you are in this alone.
” The heiress lifted her arm and Jameson’s over their heads, their fingers intertwined, and Rohan noticed a ring on Avery’s right ring finger bearing a symbol he knew all too well: a lemniscate. Infinity.
“You’ll find your first clue in the Great Room,” Jameson announced. “In three…”
“Two…,” Avery said.
One. As the countdown hit zero, Rohan took off, a bullet through the night, fully confident in his ability to win this race. Lyra Kane was a distance runner, made for endurance, not sprints; Brady’s solid build would slow him down; Grayson would hold back to guard Lyra. And Savannah…
As Rohan edged back around the base of the cliff, Savannah tore right through the water at high speed.
Within two breaths, they were both running, full-out, along the shore.
Rohan knew that it did not matter, in theory, which of them got to the Great Room first, so long as they beat the competition to their destination. And yet…
He could not quite restrain himself from cutting her off. “I have four inches on you, love. Enjoy the view from behind.”
Up the cliff. Around the front. Into the house. Rohan made it to the Great Room less than five seconds before Savannah did. He’d fully intended to allow her entrance then lock the others out, but the door to the Great Room had been removed.
Coming to a standstill at the threshold, Rohan took in the sight before him.
“Dominoes,” Savannah said, scanning the pattern: thousands of dominoes, made of gold and positioned just so, lines and loops, a complicated design covering the entire Great Room except for a narrow path that went from the door to a round table that stood at the center of the room. All other furniture had been removed.
Savannah stepped foot on the path, just as Brady hit the foyer.
“Tread carefully, love.” Rohan eyed the dominoes.
Savannah didn’t so much as look back or break her stride. “Don’t call me love .”
Rohan took to the path himself, and Brady followed Rohan, and in less than a minute, all five of the players were standing around the circular table.
Its top was made of rings of metal—bronze around the outside, then silver, then gold.
On it were five crystal champagne flutes bearing deep red liquid.
Rohan plucked one into the air, examining the design of the flute. Cut into the crystal, there was an H . His mind already fast at work, Rohan made a show of taking a sip. “Tastes of pomegranate. Mythologically speaking, I might be stuck here now.”
A pomegranate cocktail. A round table. A crystal H . Rohan’s gaze slid over the complicated, swirling lines of dominoes on the floor as the other players each claimed a glass.
The moment the last glass was lifted off the table, the first domino fell. The click of golden tile against golden tile became a roar as one line of dominoes triggered two more triggered two more, until all around the room, swirls and loops and lines were going off at all once.
Like fireworks.
The metal rings on the tabletop began to move. They split down the center, separating to reveal a compartment underneath. In it were five golden objects. Darts.
Savannah moved to grab one, but Rohan intercepted her, his touch stilling her hand as he took the lay of the land.
The five darts were arranged like a flower or a star, needle-sharp tips in the center, flights to the outside.
Around the display, words had been carved into the wood of the table, curving around the darts.
“ Every story has its beginning …,” Rohan read aloud. “Take only one.”