Page 35 of His Angel

“It’s not literal,” I say, reaching out a hand to his chest before he does something stupid. “The clue is in the lights, they’re flashing. Does anyone know Morse code?” I ask, my gaze connecting with Leo’s.

How and why I instinctively know this is a skillset he has, I’m not sure. But he does, I can feel it.

He nods, confirming my suspicion before he sits down at the table opposite me.

“Boy scouts?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, but he shakes his head.

Not surprising really.

I have no idea what Taylor and Oliver are doing, whether they’re still looking for something physical to help with this, to hopefully find a final clue, or if they’re just standing and watching the two of us stare at each other.

“Find me a pen,” he finally says, the click-clacking of the train registering as the carriage rushes back into my field of vision.

A cupboard door slams and a drawer is left hanging open, but nobody can find anything. There’s not so much as a rogue pencil left behind when the lights begin to flash again, but we’re not quite quick enough to catch it, too busy scrabbling for something we can’t find.

“Four,” Taylor declares, a bottle of vodka in hand. “There were four sequences then and there are four of us. So, if we each remember one sequence, then you can work it out, right?” he asks, looking hopefully at Leo.

Nobody dares to look at the clock as it nears the end of its timer. We’re down to our last fifteen minutes and the pressure is really fucking on, heat seeming to blossom out of nowhere.

“Yes,” Leo agrees. “Or I could use that,” he says, pointing to the bottle.

Taylor takes one final pull before handing it over, Leo holding it as we wait, each of us watching the wall lights in anticipation of the moment they finally blink again. Hope swells in the pit of my stomach, and I’m not sure how well placed it is, but together, we’ve worked this out, as a team. As odd as that may seem.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t try something else?” Taylor asks.

“Give me those notes and I’ll see if I can find something,” Oliver suggests, holding his hand out.

“Sure,” I say, handing them over.

But he’s not going to find it, not if I didn’t.

No, we have to wait for Leo, he’s got this.

The seconds tick on, as do the minutes, and the hope sours and sinks like a stone, a lump forming in the back of my throat, but still, we wait, silent and patient, until the lights go again.

Then Leo pours a series of puddles on the bar top, nothing that makes any sense to me as he mumbles away to himself, heading straight to the lock box and punching the letters into the keypad. His concerned gaze turns triumphant as he pulls out a key, a raucous sound of elation tumbling from the rest of us as he goes straight to the exit and slides it into the lock.

Oliver jumps on his back as he swings the door open, and Taylor loops his arm over my shoulders. Eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds to go on the now stopped clock as we walk out, following the arrows to the left and the lit-up ‘EXIT’ sign.

“Thank fuck for that,” Taylor says on an exhale of breath. “Can you imagine the shit they’d have given us if they came out first?”

“About as much as we’ll give them?” Oliver asks, pushing open the door and stepping out into the warehouse.

There are seats and bottles of beer waiting for the victors, and as I look around at the deathly silent room, I realise that must be us. Leo grabs a couple from an ice cooler, handing one to me with a nod before grabbing a chair and sitting down.

It looks like friendships can be forged under pressure, but as I take in his posture, it’s clear to me, he’s as nervous as I am about the fact that we’re the first ones out.

Where’s Jacob?

TEN

JACOB

“Idon’t know why you’re even bothering with that stupid note,” Jasper says, exasperatedly tugging his hands through his hair. “There’s nothing else there.”

“It had the info for that one, and this one,” Wyatt replies, gesturing to the two locks we’ve managed to complete so far. There’s a calmness to his voice that’s soothing, and completely at odds with the insane way my heart pounds in my chest, the final minutes ticking down on the clock. “There’s nothing to say that it won’t have more in it if we can just work it out.”

The lights dim as we go over a bumpy section of the track, figuratively speaking, as I cling to the hope that Wyatt’s going to find something, anything, before the time runs out.

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