Chapter Sixteen #2
I slip out and pull the door shut, my pulse rocketing as my mental countdown puts me somewhere around eight minutes left.
The next room is another lounge space, this one smaller and cozier.
I catalog the furniture, my eyes seeping over a darkened fireplace filled with cold ash and logs that smell faintly of pine.
There’s a grandfather clock in the corner that nearly kills me through fright alone.
Its tall, carved body is like a guard, the glint of its clockface demanding that I pick up my pace.
I grimace, heading back into the hallway and feeling the heat of frustration creep up the back of my neck.
Each passing second I waste is a second they get closer to chasing me down.
Cast by lengthened windows, every shadow messes with my head, every chandelier glinting like it’s tracking me.
The thought does cross my mind that there could be hidden cameras I don’t know about.
As Rhys pointed out, he doesn’t play fair, but I can’t let myself fail without even trying.
It’s not in my nature. The more I think about it, the faster I move, my determination curling hot and fierce in my abdomen, fueling me down the hall like something predatory is hot on my heels.
I stumble into the games room next, and even with my heart pounding like I just sprinted a mile, I can’t help but pause long enough to absorb how beautiful the room is at night.
The snooker table sits at the center like a jewel, its dark green felt almost black in the soft overhead lighting.
I momentarily consider stopping this hunt before it’s even started, stripping down and presenting myself spread-eagled across the table, but where’s the fun in that?
If by whatever chance I happen to win, I get to pick their punishment, and that’s a dangerous notion.
A cruel smirk hitches the corner of my mouth as I continue on, thoughts popping into my head when I really should be focusing.
Greeted with a few locked doors, the hallway curves around the edge of the manor, a dead end in sight.
My heart sinks, but before I can get too annoyed at having to circle back, a door handle opens beneath my touch.
Thank fuck. Although that elation is quickly doused by the room that reveals itself to me.
Beneath a huge, blank screen, the theater room is set up with several rows of plush, leather chairs.
Sunken lights trail the aisles on either side in a faint, sickly blue.
The air is colder here, prickling my nape, the silence thick enough that I swear I can hear my own heartbeat ricocheting off the walls.
I step inside halfway, gripping the doorframe as a cold shiver skates up my arms at the uncanny vibe the darkness gives off.
Velvet curtains framing the screen hang perfectly still, and for a split, irrational second, my mind conjures the image of a hand curling around the fabric, ready to pull it back and reveal something I absolutely do not have the emotional bandwidth to deal with.
The quiet wraps itself around my shoulders, but before I can retreat, the chime of the grandfather clock reverberates faintly through the walls, more of a vibration than a sound that I feel all the way down to my bones. It’s eleven o'clock. Time’s up, and I’m out of options.
Screw it. I shove myself fully into the very room and draw the door closed as quietly as I am able.
My hands shake from the adrenaline and heebie jeebies I’m giving myself, but regardless, I fly down the aisle and all but throw myself through the loose curtain underneath the screen before I can talk myself out of it.
The gap underneath isn’t half as cavernous as I was expecting, my back hitting the wall as the curtain floats back into place and casting me into darkness.
The smell of overall staleness is suffocating, my throat fighting a cough that gets stuck there.
“Brilliant, Harper,” I mutter inwardly, my thoughts dripping with sarcasm.
“Fantastic survival instincts. Truly top tier.” Taking a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady my pulse, I shimmy upwards until the adjoining wall bumps into my head, planning on drawing my knees up into a tiny ball.
“Sure, that will make me invisible,” I scoff beneath my breath.
Pushing into the narrow wedge of space I’ve folded myself into, the wall at my back gives way the tiniest bit. I frown, shifting onto my other side to push at it, and sure enough, a portion of the wall folds inwards. My breath stutters.
As if I have no self-preservation whatsoever, I tuck myself into the tiny, forgotten alcove that was probably meant for sound equipment or storage or something. There’s nothing in here now, but something hollow I accidentally kick that seems like a cardboard box.
Slotting the panel back into place, I sink into the dust, undoing the point of the shower, and grin to myself like an absolute maniac. I found somewhere to hide that’s cramped, awkward, and absolutely perfect because, holy shit, I’m actually going to win this.