Luna #2
I shake my head. “Nothing.” My face burn as I walk to the bed and hurry to make it.
“Luna,” he reprimands. But doesn’t ask what I’m doing. When I look at him, his brow isn’t furrowed in confusion as anyone else’s might be.
For some reason, this makes me blush harder.
Once finished with the bed, I walk past him without a word and tiptoe into the hall. Sawyer follows me straight to the library. It’s a risk, walking with such direction, such confidence.
“In here,” I say unnecessarily as I slide open the door to the library and slip inside. Sawyer creeps in behind me with impressively quiet steps.
I walk to the bookshelf and run my hand along the side until I find the groove I’m looking for. Shielding the shelf with my body, I fit my ring into the groove until I hear the lock click.
Sawyer guessed that my ring was important to me. He couldn’t have guessed the extent of it.
I open up the door—risky, unnecessary, impulsive—and beckon Sawyer inside. The automatic light clicks on as soon as his foot hits the floor. I listen for his gasp when he takes it in, but he doesn’t seem to breathe at all.
I slip inside and shut the door while Sawyer stands staring at the wall that catalogs his life. Photos of him, mostly from the private detective but a few of his island, his victims, are pinned in neat rows with notes beneath each. If he searched for long, he’d see my most recent notes.
Obsessive compulsive disorder.
Cheek tics when nervous.
Lines up feet at doors before proceeding into rooms.
Left-handed.
Chews primarily using right molars.
Numbers he says in his sleep: thirteen. Twenty-seven. Six.
Teeth tap equals one step?
Schizophrenic mother - deceased.
It wouldn’t take much for him to realize I’m the person who created that list. But he’s too busy staring at the photos to notice.
I lift up the carpet and move the wooden plank covering the ladder that’ll take us to the first floor.
“How did you find this place?” he absently asks.
“They showed me earlier. It’s an escape path in case of emergencies, like if there’s a fire.”
Or an angry mob.
“Emergencies,” he parrots, unconvinced. He looks so confused with his face pinched, deep valleys cutting between his eyes—signs of age on an otherwise boyish face.
I set the board to the side. “You ready? We should hurry.”
He shakes his head and goes back to the photos. “Something isn’t right.”
“We don’t have time to hesitate.”
That earns me his gaze, fogged eyes clearing with a sweep of reality’s hand. He looks back at the door then blows out a breath.
“I’ll go first,” he says, chivalrous knight that he isn’t.
I back up to make room for him. He lowers himself into the hole and grips the metal bars of the ladder. When he looks at me, I give him a little nod, and he starts down.
The ladder leads directly to a vent above one of the first floor bathrooms. He kicks it open and lowers himself to the bottom rung of the ladder. When he drops, I follow his lead, sucking in a breath at the feel of his strong hands encircling my stomach, inches from the knife.
I adjust the nightgown, ignoring the heat in my neck, and go to the cabinet under the sink.
Tension rolls off Sawyer as he watches me. Tension so thick, I half expect him to run from me, or knock my head in. But he’s still as I pull the items from the cabinet then lift the base out to reveal a black hole—a tunnel that will lead us to the woods.
“Luna, how the hell do you know about this?”
There—suspicion. The first slip of it directed toward me.
I stand up and step back from him. “I told you. It’s an evacuation tunnel for fires. Everyone in the house knows about it.”
Not true. Thorne and I slowly added this years ago. Around the time I read about Marie Antoinette.
He gestures to the hole, his brow furrowed. “If they showed you this, it’s because they wanted to set you up. They’re going to be waiting for us on the other side.”
I bring my hand to my mouth and nibble my nails while pretending to think. After a few moments, I shake my head. “We don’t have any other choice.”
“You can still stay here.” He takes me by my shoulders. So gently. So unlike him. What a shame I had to spend so much time with the other side of Sawyer. “It isn’t too late. Just take the ladder back up—”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously and turn toward the sink. “I’m not staying here another second.”
Before he can argue, I climb into the hole and drop down to the tunnel. My shoulders prickle with uncertainty… And adrenaline. Maybe even excitement.
“Come on,” I whisper above before crawling a few feet into the tunnel. It isn’t big enough to stand in. Just enough for a large body like Thorne’s to crawl through.
I begin to lead the way in the pitch black while Sawyer climbs in behind me. I pause and wait for him to catch up before continuing forward.
It takes us probably fifteen minutes to crawl out the other side, but when we do, we’re in the forest. I shove the board covering the tunnel and climb through. When I stand, I offer my hand to Sawyer. He doesn’t take it.
Standing, he wipes debris off his hoodie and turns to find the Keep in the distance. We aren’t that far away. Less than a hundred yards.
He’s confused—possibly about our location, probably about the fact that no one is waiting for us.
“Which way?” I whisper.
He looks around for a moment before glimpsing me in my nightgown. He pulls his hoodie off and hands it over before pointing into the dark. “It’s this way.” He starts into the dark way while I hurry to pull on the hoodie.
I follow him that direction, letting him fully take the lead. My heart beats wildly, ears buzzing with excitement, but on the outside, I play my part.
My arms wrap tightly around my stomach while my breaths come loud and heavy.
When I hear something move, I gasp. When a branch grazes my arm, I yelp.
Sawyer ignores every sound I make. I imagine him in his head, counting his steps, sorting through his memory bank.
I called it compulsive, but it has its use.
Newly initiated Keepers take months to become fully familiar with our forest. Sawyer has taken three weeks, and he knows it better than I’m guessing a great amount of our people.
He pauses at every trap, guides me by my arm around it, then pauses again and shifts his feet in an exact way. We do this several times before I realize what he’s doing.
The traps are markers for him.
Truly, I’m impressed.
“You really know your way around,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond, and after a few minutes pass, I try again to speak. He just pauses, holds up his hand, and tells me he needs to focus. I watch his eyes close as he recomposes himself. When he opens his eyes, we carry on.