11 #2
He laughed, a real one this time, and she felt it warm in her chest.
The escape room was tucked between a vape shop and a reflexology clinic on Brunswick Street. The front window was papered with fake parchment and framed with velvet curtains.
ESCAPE CENTRAL: The Crown Jewels Have Been Stolen. Can You Save the Realm?
Blake stared at the sign. ‘Bloody hell. It’s royal cosplay theatre.’
Inside, the theme continued with theatrical excess, deep red velvet, faux-stone walls, trumpet fanfare.
A staffer spoke in full drama-school voice. ‘Hail, noble adventurers! I am your game master!’
Blake just stared. ‘Wow.’
Morgan cut straight through. ‘The flames are LED. Slight flicker loop on a twelve-second interval.’
The game master handed them a clipboard. ‘You four are the queen’s last hope. Who is your leader?’
‘I nominate the twelve-year-old,’ Chelsea said.
Sam handed Morgan the clipboard. ‘All yours, Commander.’
The game master led them to the first door. ‘Your quest begins within. The fate of the kingdom lies in your hands.’
Blake turned to Sam, falling back into their comfortable dynamic. ‘This is gonna be the best or worst sixty minutes of my life.’
Sam grinned. ‘I’m betting best.’
The door clunked shut behind them with theatrical finality.
Near darkness. Faux torchlight flickered against plastic stone walls.
A scroll on the pedestal read: The Queen’s jewels have vanished, and her kingdom hangs in the balance.
Find the sigil, unlock the crest, and restore glory before time runs out…
A trumpet blared through a tiny speaker. Morgan didn’t flinch.
‘Brilliant,’ Blake muttered. ‘Timed glory-based pressure. My love language.’
Morgan was already examining a mural of suspiciously shiny shields. ‘Symbol repetition suggests a code in the colour sequence,’ she said.
Sam moved towards the wall. ‘This plate looks like it comes off, see the grooves?’
Blake watched him work. Quiet, steady hands tilting the fake crest, exposing a compartment containing tiny velvet bags. Inside each a wooden tile carved with a letter.
‘Anagram time,’ Sam said.
Morgan arranged them on the floor. ‘Seven letters. Royal-themed. Crown? Heir? Monarch?’
‘Try realm,’ Blake offered.
‘Too short,’ Morgan muttered. ‘And we’re missing an L.’
‘Of course we are,’ Blake said. ‘We’re always missing an L.’
Chelsea smirked. ‘That was bleak. And alphabetically impressive.’
While Morgan tested combinations, Blake wandered over to some medieval portraits on the far wall. Her elbow clipped a suit of armour standing close to the walkway.
The knight wobbled. Once. Twice…
Then crashed spectacularly.
The clang echoed. A gauntlet spun on the walkway, now detached from its arm.
Everyone froze.
Blake raised her hands. ‘Okay, in my defence, that knight had balance issues.’
Chelsea burst out laughing. ‘You just body-slammed King Arthur.’
Morgan sighed, stepping closer. ‘There’s something in the chest plate.’
Sam retrieved a scroll from behind the broken torso. The queen’s gold lies locked from view, But four must pass to make it true. To find the vault where secrets sleep, you’ll need a code, a crown and something deep.
Blake stared. ‘Did the knight just give us a riddle?’
Morgan was already back at the tiles. ‘The clue confirms the tiles spell out CORONET.’
Sam moved to help her right the suit of armour, and Blake caught how he maintained a careful distance. When their hands accidentally brushed reaching for the same tile, he pulled back. Too quick.
‘Nice find,’ he said to Morgan, warm but professional now.
Blake’s chest tightened. She’d broken something between them without meaning to.
Morgan finished arranging: C-O-R-O-N-E-T. And a throne.
A panel slid back with a mechanical groan. New room. More fake velvet. More LED fire.
Plush chair, gilded mirror, cryptic message in a medieval font on the wall: To sit in power, one must first reflect on what’s true.
A dragon chest sat in the corner, padlocked and significant-looking.
‘Come on,’ Blake said. ‘Philosophy class now?’
‘No,’ Morgan said. ‘Mirror trick. Sam, can you tilt it?’
He moved without hesitation. The mirror caught torchlight and reflected a code onto the wall. Numbers. Coordinates.
Blake let out a low whistle. ‘I know we joke about your hidden talents, Sam, but that was…weirdly hot.’
The words slipped out, her default flirtation mode engaging without thought. Sam laughed, but there was something careful in it now. He was protecting himself.
Chelsea caught her eye. One knowing look that said she’d noticed everything.
They faced the dragon chest and tried the lock.
Morgan crouched beside it. ‘It’s a coded lock. Not standard numbers. Letters. Possibly initials.’
There was a faded inscription under the dragon’s tail: ‘For Crown, Kin, Honour, Truth.’ Try the initials.’
Sam spun the letters. C, K, H, T.
Click.
Inside was a plastic crown and a silver key.
They navigated the final challenges with Morgan leading. When they hit the final button, the lights dimmed dramatically. A countdown timer read: 60 seconds.
‘Go, go, go!’ Sam shouted.
They scrambled through the last hallway. Ducking suits of armour, dodging props, Chelsea hugging the crown like royalty on a rampage.
At two seconds, they burst through.
Trumpets. Confetti.
The game master reappeared. ‘You have done it! The queen’s line shall endure!’
Blake threw her arms up. ‘All in a night’s work, Your Majesty.’
Sam fist-bumped Morgan. Chelsea curtsied. Blake caught it all and, for a second, the noise in her head quieted.
The drive home unfolded in reverse. They dropped Chelsea first. She waved off with a mock salute and mumbled, ‘Text me when you’ve emotionally unravelled.’
Blake rolled her eyes but smiled. It felt…easy. Good. Almost normal again.
As they drove on, the car grew quieter. Morgan had her headphones on now. Blake stole glances at Sam, trying to read his mood. He seemed calmer, like the escape room had helped him get through whatever disappointment he’d felt earlier.
When they pulled up outside Blake’s house, she unbuckled carefully, not quite sure how to end the night on the right note.
‘Thanks again. For tonight,’ she said.
Sam smiled, and it reached his eyes. ‘It was fun. You were great.’
‘I broke a knight.’
‘And saved a kingdom.’
She smiled. Maybe they were okay. Maybe she hadn’t ruined everything.
‘I’ll wait until you’re inside,’ Sam said as Blake and Morgan got out of the car.
Of course he would. Because that’s who Sam was. Steady. Reliable. Kind.
Blake followed Morgan up the path. She turned at the door, lifted a hand in thanks. Sam raised his in return, and she unlocked the front door.
Inside, the house was quiet. Blake leaned against the closed door, processing. The almost-date that wasn’t. The signals she’d sent without meaning to. The way Sam had handled it all with such grace.
Morgan had already dropped her bag and headed for the fridge. She stared into it longingly, then shut the door.
‘You didn’t do too badly,’ she said, reaching for the caramel pack of Tim Tams on the bench.
Blake arched an eyebrow. ‘For someone who caused mild destruction?’
Morgan shrugged. ‘Technically, the knight wasn’t stable to begin with.’ She peeled the packet open. Then added, ‘I’m not very good at…people.’
Blake looked over, surprised. ‘You’re better than you think.’
Morgan shook her head. ‘I mean…understanding them. Feeling stuff. Noticing signals. I miss most things.’
She selected a Tim Tam with careful consideration. ‘But even I can tell Sam likes you.’
Blake’s hands stilled.
Morgan continued, more curious than confident. ‘He’s just… always really focused when you talk. I don’t know the word. But it’s kinda obvious.’
Blake leaned against the bench, warmth pooling under her ribs. Out of the mouths of babes. Or in this case, out of the mouth of her preternaturally observant daughter.
Morgan perched on a stool. ‘He gets me too. Not in a loud way. He just…gets it.’
Blake nodded. ‘Yeah. He’s good like that.’
‘And tonight,’ Morgan added, taking a bite, ‘he tried really hard. The shirt. Picking us up. He wanted it to be special.’
Blake’s chest squeezed. She’d really made a mess of things.
Morgan stood, half-yawning. ‘I’m going to bed. Don’t eat all the caramel ones.’
She hesitated at the hallway, then turned back. ‘I’m still figuring it out. But I do notice things.’ She paused. ‘And I think you notice them too. You’re just pretending not to.’
Then she was gone, leaving Blake alone with that observation hanging in the air.
She stood there processing her daughter’s words. The truth of them. The complexity of what they implied.
Then she picked up a Tim Tam, and bit off a corner.
She thought about Sam’s face when he’d arrived. The hope in it. The careful way he’d navigated the evening after realising his mistake. The grace he’d shown her, even in disappointment.
She thought about Morgan’s words. About her noticing things but pretending not to.
Was that what she was doing? Was she so focused on the mystery of Leo, on the ghosts of a week thirteen years ago, that she was missing what was right in front of her?
The Tim Tam melted on her tongue. Sweet. Confusing. The chocolate taste brought back another kitchen, another moment, Leo’s thumb at her mouth, the deliberate way he’d tasted that same sweetness from his skin. How one gesture had undone her completely.
Sam was nothing like that. Sam was steady, sweet, but maybe more complex than she’d let herself acknowledge. Different from Leo’s intensity, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
Blake finished the biscuit. Monday, she’d have to face it all again. The show. The search. The mess of feelings she kept creating without meaning to.