And then a sound. A low, guttural exhale. A breath that isn’t mine.
I freeze.
No!
Slowly, so painfully slowly, I turn.
He’s moving, the syringe still in his neck. The drug should’ve put him under. But he’s not unconscious. He’s awake. Dazed. But awake.
His shoulders roll like he’s shaking off a chill. Then, his head lifts.
And our eyes meet.
A slow, lazy smile stretches across his lips and my stomach lurches. This isn’t possible. No one should be able to fightoff whatever Agnes gave him. No one. But him? He’s already pushing himself up.
His voice is rough, slurred but filled with dark amusement. “Cecely.”
He says my name like a promise.
Like a warning.
Like he knows exactly what I’m about to do.
Agnes yells, “Run!”
I don’t hesitate. I take the stairs two at a time, lunging toward the door. It’s unlocked. Thank God. I shove it open, stumbling into the dimly lit hallway.
And then I hear it. The footsteps. Fast. Too fast.
I whirl.
He’s already at the top of the stairs. His pupils are blown wide, his breath coming ragged and unsteady. But his smirk? That’s perfectly intact.
“You really thought you could get away?”
I don’t answer.
I run.
Down the hall. Through the darkened corridors of the house. Every door I pass is locked. No time. No escape. I twist and turn, my lungs burning, my legs screaming…
But so do his footsteps. Always behind me. Close.
A laugh echoes down the hall. Low. Amused. Deadly.
“Cecely.”
He’s playing with me. Hunting me. Because he knows this house better than I do. Knows every turn, every locked door, every dead end. And I just barrel through another.
Shit. Dead end. I whip around and he’s already there. Leaning casually against the doorway. Like he knew I’d end up right here. His eyes glow with something dark. Something triumphant.
I am completely trapped.
He tilts his head, watching me.
“Now, what am I going to do with you?”
I give him a soft smile. And then I attack. I move fast. I lunge, swinging my fist toward his throat. He catches my wrist mid-air, but I expected that.