Page 107 of Inferno

Following them down the corridor, the smell of wet paint stings my nostrils as I trail behind him to a door on the right.

“In here,” the man grunts, and I hear the click as it opens.

As we moved away from the doors, the rich aroma of chocolate fades, replaced by the sharp, sterile scent of cleaning chemicals, the faint smell of leather, and the fresh, slightly acrid tang of paint.

I step inside and he clears his throat behind me, and I turn, taking in the giant in front of me covered with a black balaclava.His dark brown eyes burn into mine, intense and unwavering, as I scan his body clad in a tight black top that hugs his arms.

I’m looking for markers. A sign of which family they belong to. Nothing. Covered from head to toe.

“Tonight is preparation night,” he tells me, nodding behind me.

I follow his line of vision, a plush double bed with satin purple covers. A bathroom. And a black duffle bag on the bed.

“Preparation?” I ask, turning back to him.

“Shower. Get yourself clean. You’ve traveled far. Get some sleep. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes. The games begin at sunrise.”

I nod.

“And where exactly am I? You know, so I can work out my jet lag situation.” I bat my lashes at him.

“Pennsylvania. In a chocolate factory.”

I choked on a sudden, unexpected laugh, my face turning red.

“I’m sorry. It just sounds like a joke when you say it out loud.”

His eyes darken, and he scratches his, I assume, beard beneath the mask.

“We don’t joke.”

I snap my mouth shut. Why does he suddenly sound less American?

“Okay. So you’ll come get me at sunrise. How many hours?”

He looks at his shining watch; as he lifts up his arm, I get a peek of his pistol.

“Seven hours,” he says flatly.

I bite back a yawn. Whatever they knocked me out with is clearly having its effect still.

“Okay,” I say, and take a step back.

“What’s in the bag?” I point to it. I wasn’t allowed to bring a single thing with me. The guards must have my rucksack.

“Your outfit for the games.”

“Like a costume?” I shake my head in disbelief. What the hell is going on?

He steps forward and towers over me.

“Nothing here is a joke. You read the contract. You signed on the dotted line. You belong to Decadence now.”

I blink at him, the harshness of his voice sending shivers down my spine.

“Sorry,” I reluctantly whisper.

“I’m nervous.” I’m not completely lying. A lot rests on these games.

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