Chapter Seven #2
She nodded. “The no jewelry rule.”
I removed my belt and laid it on the bench then studied the suit again. “It’s a little too sci-fi for my taste, but I’ve been working out so I feel like I can rock it.”
She huffed. “Because I care how you look in anything?”
“So testy.” With a grin I couldn’t hold back, I said, “I guess I shouldn’t mention that you might look good in yours as well?”
The face she made at me was comical. “Might? I do Pilates three times a week and run on the days I don’t. I’d put my abs up against yours any day.”
“Hey, no one is asking you to do that,” I said with a laugh.
“But aren’t you curious what kind of escape room requires a magnetic suit?
I shouldn’t brag, but the woman who designed this experience did it as a favor.
I couldn’t afford to hire her, and neither could you.
She said some of the technology she used is still a prototype. ”
Bella looked away. “Are you saying that to get me to embarrass myself in this ridiculous suit?”
In that moment I came face to face with two uncomfortable truths.
I didn’t want to embarrass her at all, and I was not opposed to seeing her in what looked like a high tech, shiny wetsuit.
“No. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.
I suppose you could stay here and wait for me to come back for you. ”
She angrily began to unbutton her suit coat but did take the time to fold it neatly and place it on a bench before sliding off her heels and lining them up with surgical precision.
Her movements were efficient and controlled, but underneath the polish, I saw grit, determination . . . and a hint of fatigue?
“I assume you’re going to turn around,” she said flatly.
“I assume you don’t need me to. You’re probably wearing a thousand protective layers.”
Her mouth tightened, and for a second, I thought she might actually tell me to get out. Instead, she grabbed the suit and headed toward a privacy partition in the corner. It was a curtain, not a wall—another reminder that she wasn’t fully alone even when she wanted to be.
“Do not look,” she called out, her tone sharp.
“As if I would.” I wanted to, but I also respected that she was in a vulnerable situation. One that I had put her in.
I stripped down to my boxers and stepped into the bodysuit.
It hugged tight, like a second skin designed for movement and survival.
When I stepped into the boots, the soles locked to my feet with a low mechanical hum.
As I flexed my fingers in the gloves, I felt the faint vibration of a dormant field.
Cool.
Bella stepped out from behind the curtain, and for a second, she forgot her mask. She gave me a long once over, so long I felt the crotch of the suit tighten. When she met my gaze, her face flushed and she looked away.
I didn’t. The fitted black bodysuit was fantasy-level tight. It clung to each curve, covering her from neck to toes, while also leaving her delightfully revealed.
I shifted in my suit, hoping she wouldn’t notice the bulge it failed to conceal. To buy myself a moment to come to my senses, I gathered up my clothing and placed it in the locker.
“Ready?” I asked casually, as if my pulse wasn’t pounding.
“I’m ready.”
Dressed like futuristic divers, we followed arrows down the corridor to where there was another door.
It opened to reveal a vertical shaft forty feet deep and nothing else.
The walls were smooth, seamless, and faintly luminous, as if light were embedded beneath the surface. No ladder. No rope. Just open space.
Bella stepped to the edge and looked down without flinching before turning to me slowly. “The only way out is through?” She glanced at the door we’d passed through. It had also closed and a red indicator light glowed beside it.
Locked.
“That’s what the sign said.” I joined her at the edge and looked down the shaft. A low, almost subsonic hum vibrated through the soles of my boots, subtle but unmistakable. The air itself felt dense, charged, as if the space were waiting.
“There’s a sign behind you.”
We both walked to it and read it silently:
SHAFT DESCENT PROTOCOL
This environment operates under a shaped diamagnetic levitation field.
The field will support your body mass once fully entered.
Your suit will assist with stabilization and alignment.
Do not jump.
Do not push off surfaces.
Do not resist corrective force.
Movement requires controlled posture and synchronized pacing.
The field responds to imbalance.
Proceed together.
“Synchronized pacing?” she echoed.
“It sounds like we’ll need to work together to not . . .” I didn’t say die. I didn’t believe a friend of Dominic’s would have put us in that level of danger, but I had to admit there was more risk involved in this experience than I’d imagined when I’d agreed to it.
The look she gave me was long and assessing. “Have you ever done this before?”
I shook my head. “Like I said, this is all new to me as well.”
She stepped closer to the opening and lifted one gloved hand, passing it slowly through the air beside the wall. The suit responded with a faint vibration, a responsive thrum that traveled up her arm.
I stepped forward and placed one boot into the shaft, not onto the wall but into the open space beside it.
Instantly, my weight shifted—not downward, but laterally—like gravity had quietly rotated ninety degrees.
The suit adjusted around me, subtle pressure redistributing along my legs and core as the field stabilized.
Bella sucked in a sharp breath.
I brought my second foot in, and my body settled fully into the field, suspended and oriented parallel to the wall, held there by an invisible force that felt firm, deliberate. Not suction. Not adhesion. Balance.
“This is fucking unnerving, but I think we need to trust it,” I said, pushing gently until I was upright—standing sideways, as if the wall were the floor. “I mean, I’m not dead yet.”
“This is insane.”
“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand. “I refuse to believe I’m braver than you are.”
Bella looked at my hand like it offended her. “I don’t need your help.”
“You do if you want to keep your balance.”
Her eyes dilated, but she stepped forward, bringing one boot into the shaft. The suit reacted instantly, stabilizing her as the field caught her weight. Her breath hitched when her second foot followed and her body aligned beside mine, suspended and steady.
Suddenly, she was standing sideways next to me, her hair still secured, but her pulse visible in her throat.
We started moving down. Not climbing, not falling—but walking, each step a controlled shift through the field. The suits subtly adjusted with every movement, responding to micro-changes in posture and momentum. Too fast, and the field resisted. Too rigid, and it pushed back.
We failed several times before we made any progress. I boldly went first. Then she tried to take the lead. It held us where we were. Only when we matched our steps was it possible to move forward. It required synchronization. Measured steps. A shared rhythm.
Every shift brought us closer. Shoulders brushed. Heat sparked where I didn’t want to feel it. I could hear when her breathing changed—not from exertion, but from proximity.
About halfway down, we were doing so well, that all fear fell away. I glanced at her and we shared a smile that confused both of us enough that we quickly looked away again.
When we reached the bottom, Bella stepped out of the field first. The moment her boots crossed the threshold, gravity reclaimed her. She stumbled—half a step—but my hand shot out and caught her waist.
She froze, and so did I. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
I released her and made a more graceful reentry to gravity. “Sorry, I thought faceplanting might not be how you wanted this test to end.”
She made a sound deep in her throat that sounded like a swear. “How many tests are there?”
“No idea,” I said cheerfully, riding out the rush I’d gotten from walking down a wall as if I were a Spiderman.
Her chest was heaving, as she pointed to the next door. This one didn’t open to her touch. Nor to mine. We exchanged a look then placed both of our hands over it and it unlocked with a soft hiss.
The next room was a chaotic, shifting library built of light and sound.
Before either of us could step fully inside, a narrow band of text illuminated across the threshold, hovering in midair like a warning label written in glass.
ARCHIVE CHAMBER
Not everything here is what it appears to be.
Some objects have mass. Some do not.
Visual fidelity is irrelevant.
Force will not succeed.
The system responds to discernment.
Retrieve the key.
The text faded the moment we crossed into the space.
The room expanded around us, its boundaries impossible to define.
Thousands of holographic books floated in spirals and waves, shelves implied but never fixed, the entire chamber in constant motion.
Paper whispered. Spines creaked. A low, familiar hush settled into the air, layered with the faint scent of dust, ink, and old leather.
Bella stopped and stared, and for a heartbeat, she didn’t hide her wonder.
“They look so real.” She inhaled. “It even smells like a library.”
“Hold on, are you beginning to enjoy this?”
She glared at me, but she didn’t deny it.
As we stepped farther in, the storm of books subtly shifted. Volumes veered toward Bella, their movement no longer random, spiraling closer to her shoulders and waist as if the system had chosen its focal point.
She reached out, but her fingers passed through the high-definition volumetric projections.
However, I saw the ripple in the air.
Ultrasonic pressure.
They weren’t simply light. They were engineered to feel real.
When Bella brushed her fingers through a passing book again, the air pushed back as if it had mass—resistance without substance, the sensation stopping short of solidity.
“Someone is showing off,” she muttered.