Chapter Seven #3
“I don’t hate it,” I said. “Let’s find that key. Look for an object with different movement.”
Bella ignored me and stepped deeper into the whirlwind.
A dozen books swirled around her, orbiting close enough to brush her arms and hips. The projections responded to her presence, tightening their patterns, accelerating and slowing in subtle waves. While her expression remained composed, I caught the flicker of enjoyment in her eyes.
How much I liked being responsible for that was unsettling.
She tilted her head slightly, studying the motion, watching how some volumes yielded while others resisted. Then, without hesitation, she reached into the chaos.
Her gloved hand closed around a leather-bound book that didn’t dissolve or give way. It had weight. Real resistance. She pulled it free.
The storm stuttered.
One by one, the remaining books froze in midair, suspended in perfect stillness, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
“How did you do that?” I asked, enjoying watching her work through the puzzle.
“I recognized the weight. It’s possible if you’ve held enough real books to know when something is pretending.”
She opened the book to find a heavy, old-fashioned key nestled inside its hollowed pages.
The triumphant smile she shot me was so genuine it hit me like a sucker punch, leaving me both breathless and confused.
“Impressive,” I said because it was all I could think of.
“I wasn’t sure, but I felt like something was there, so I took a chance on it.”
If only life were that easy.
Before she could reach for the lock, a strip of light flared across the surface of the metal, resolving into crisp lettering that hovered above it.
REGULATION CHAMBER
This environment will respond to physiological state.
Force escalation will increase resistance.
Stability requires synchronization.
Proceed together.
The text dimmed as Bella inserted the key. The lock clicked, and we moved into a narrow corridor where smart glass walls hid shifting shadows—suggestions of movement rather than anything solid. The glass darkened and lightened in slow pulses, as if the space itself were breathing.
Bella walked ahead, shoulders square, but I saw the small tremor in her fingers.
It was exhaustion, deeper than physical.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine.”
It was the same automatic answer I’d heard from Nora, but Bella’s was more practiced and dangerous.
The corridor ended at a door with two handprints etched into the metal, perfectly sized and positioned side by side. We pressed our hands to the imprints. A chime sounded.
The door sealed behind us with a finality that no longer bothered either of us.
The chamber beyond was circular and softly lit by a diffused white glow that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
The walls were seamless smart glass, smooth and uninterrupted, with no visible seams, no panels, no exits—only a low, pervasive hum that made my skin itch, as if the sound were tuned below conscious hearing.
“What is this?” Bella asked.
“Calm.”
“That’s not a puzzle.”
“It is here.”
Bella crouched to run her fingers over the floor. “Pressure sensors.”
The floor responded immediately. Thin lines of light bloomed beneath her hand, then spread outward in concentric rings. The glow shifted from white to a slow, deliberate blue pulse. The hum deepened.
Then the air thickened.
It rolled in smoothly, without turbulence or splash, rising in measured sheets that felt like water without weight. Not mist. Not vapor. Something denser—engineered. It pressed against my boots, then my calves, cool and deliberate, moving with purpose rather than gravity.
“Tell me that isn’t water.”
“It isn’t. It’s breathable.”
“You expect me to trust that?”
“I expect you to understand that whoever built this isn’t interested in killing us.”
The substance reached her knees, then her waist, flowing higher as the room responded—not to time, but to tension.
Bella tried to fix it.
She scanned the walls for a panel or seam, pressing her palms against the smart glass, leaning her weight into it. She moved faster, harder, her motions precise but increasingly sharp, a state of controlled desperation.
“There has to be a manual override,” she muttered.
The mist reached her ribs, and her breathing changed.
I saw her swallow as she tried a third section of wall, her fingers trembling—not from fear alone, but because her body was tired of holding everything in.
“Bella. Stop.”
She laughed harshly. “You don’t get to tell me to stop.”
The mist rose to her jaw. She inhaled through her nose, determined, but her eyes were bright with anger that she could even feel fear. She was trying to contain a situation that did not care about her—a look I’d seen on Nora’s face when she tried to carry a burden alone.
“I can solve this,” Bella muttered.
I stepped into her space and caught her forearms.
She froze. “Don’t.”
“Look at me. Breathe with me.”
Her breath was fast and sharp, skirting panic. I put one hand on the back of her neck and the other against her ribcage, grounding her where she was instead of where she wanted to escape to.
“Match me.”
She fought it for two breaths before her chest finally rose in time with mine.
The tension in her shoulders dropped. Then there was a surge of heat, intimate and electric, that made my pulse pound.
Her eyes locked on mine with a mix of fury, shame, and a need that shocked both of us.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Yes you can.”
She shook her head and I hated that I’d brought us both to this place. I hated that I had trusted someone else to keep her safe. I should have gone over every detail of this experience. I should have taken better care of her.
The mist pressed against her chin. I tightened my hold, anchoring her. “Bella, listen. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.” I breathed in deeply.
She shuddered, closed her eyes briefly and did the same.
One deep breath in.
One out.
In unison. She opened her eyes and chose to trust me.
As we relaxed and even our heartbeats seemed to align, the walls began to shimmer.
The smart glass slid sideways in silent panels, the hum easing as the system recalibrated.
The floor lights dimmed, the mist receded, and a soft chime announced we’d passed the test.
The sensors had finally read what they’d been waiting for.
Bella pulled back sharply and walked through the opening without looking at me.
I followed, my body painfully aware of the intimacy we’d shared.
“Don’t say it,” she said when I fell into step beside her in the next corridor.
I had no idea what to say in that moment, so that command was easy to follow.
She faced forward. “How much more do I have to endure before you tell me whatever it is that you found out?”
Endure?
Not exactly how I’d describe how I felt about the experience. My heart was pounding, my senses sharpened. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt more alive—or more attuned to someone else.
There was a faint skittering as two small metallic shapes darted across the floor, chirped at us, and vanished into a vent.
She jumped, naturally pressing against me briefly before realizing what she’d done and quickly stepping back. “Spider robots? What are we supposed to do with them?” she asked breathlessly.
“Hopefully nothing,” I said with a grimace.
When they didn’t return, we moved on to what was labeled as the final door.
Glass, flanked by two mirrors angled inward. A line of text was etched into the glass, but the lettering was split—half appearing in her reflection and half in mine.
“Of course it requires proximity,” she muttered.
I smirked. “Remember I didn’t design this thing.”
She gave me a long look, then gestured to the space beside her.
I obeyed only because I wanted to.
I stepped into place, shoulder to shoulder, our arms brushing. The heat between us was static, alive.
We looked into the mirrors together as code segments flew past each other, sometimes aligning, sometimes missing by fractions of a second.
Although she tried to pause both sides herself, solving it required her to place her hand over part of the sequence while I placed mine over the matching segment when it appeared.
Once again we needed to work together. When we did, the door chimed and the wall unlocked.
Cool air poured in.
Victory. Freedom.
And the sharp, unexpected disappointment that it was over.
The Bella that stepped out of the escape room experience with me wasn’t the one who’d stepped in. Her hair was mussed and falling loose. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild and unguarded—as if what we’d experienced had also left her feeling vital and invincible.
I couldn’t stop myself from imagining if that’s how she’d look freshly fucked.
Outside the last door, we stood, both breathing heavy, both sweaty and confused.
The same man who’d let us in appeared and offered to take us back to our clothing and a place to freshen up.
Bella stood there a moment longer, holding my gaze. “What did you learn?”
About her? Myself? I was still processing both.
“About Nora and Brady,” she added.
Oh. Yeah. “Nora said everything is good. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good?” Bella frowned. “You put me through all of that only to tell me that you think there’s nothing to worry about.” Her expression tightened.
Put like that it sounded damning. “This wasn’t about giving you new information—”
“Of course it wasn’t.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “This was payback, Burke style. Well, consider us even.” She strode away, leaving me with a hard-on that I was having difficulty explaining to myself.
Somewhere between the library and the mist, she’d gone from an adversary to someone I wanted to know better.
Shit.