Page 20 of The Queen
He chuckles. “Some of them.”
“Lucky you.”
We emerge into a larger room, the air stale and musty with disuse but otherwise empty.
As we move deeper into the building, every shadow feels alive, every silence heavy with the threat of betrayal. It’s a game of cat and mouse in the darkness, and we’re both predators on the hunt.
“Where the fuck is he?” I mutter, anger getting the better of me.
“We’ll find him. Or the others will,” James replies, stopping suddenly down a narrow tunnel so I crash into the back of him.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Sorry, it’s gone really dark. Need a sec.”
He pulls something out of his combat pants and then flicks on a small torch with a narrow beam before he continues.
A long corridor stretches out before us, lined with doors, each one a potential hiding spot for the traitor who dares threaten what’s mine.
We reach a door at the end, and James looks over his shoulder. “You ready?”
“Always.”
He swings it open to a room that’s dark as pitch, the kind of darkness you feel in your bones. I flip on the flashlight app on my phone, needing the extra light and sweep the beam across the room.
“Clear,” he calls out after a tense moment that stretches too long for comfort.
“Let’s move.” His voice is low and steady.
As we head through the dark room to appear in a light corridor, we come face to face with the other guys. I can tell something’s off the moment we reach them. Oliver’s jaw is set hard, his eyes flitting between Raphael and Tarquin like he’s trying to read their minds.
“Did you find anything?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.
“Nothing, and that’s what’s bugging me,” Oliver snaps, frustration lacing his words.
“Then let’s keep looking.”
“But how does he know this place better than we do?”
“Good fucking question,” I growl but shove past them to keep searching.
“We just came from there,” Tarquin calls out.
“Doesn’t mean he knows that and thinks it’s clear.”
“Fair,” he murmurs as we pass like ships, and I feel James slip in behind me.
The Castle looms around us, stone walls whispering secrets of a bygone era. I turn on my heel, and every creak beneathmy boots is a reminder that danger stalks just as closely as the memories haunting these halls.
The air grows even colder as we descend a narrow staircase. I can’t shake the feeling of eyes prickling on my skin, but I shove it aside. Paranoia won’t help us now.
“Left,” I murmur on instinct, my hand ghosting over the damp stone wall for guidance. We slip through an archway into a corridor lit by sporadic emergency lights that throw more shadows than illumination. “Why is this bit lit?”
“We’re under the stage,” James murmurs.
“Oh, that’s not fucking creepy.”
He snickers and takes my hand. It’s like being struck by lightning.
