I have to get out.
Midnight. The house settles into its nighttime rhythm—creaking floorboards, the distant hum of the heating system, the whisper of wind against windowpanes. Most of the staff have retired. This is my chance.
I slip out of my room, backpack pressed against my spine. Inside: cash from my emergency stash, my passport, a change of clothes, Grandmother's letters. The essentials for disappearing. My hiking boots dangle from one hand, laces tied together. I'll put them on outside. For now, thick socks muffle my footsteps on the carpet.
The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit by wall sconces. Each shadow could hide a guard. Each corner could reveal Marcus, Donovan, or one of the faceless men in dark suits.
My pulse pounds so hard I taste it—metallic, sharp, like fear has a flavor.
I make it to the grand staircase. The marble gleams below, polished to a mirror shine. I start down, keeping to the edge where the steps are less likely to creak.
Halfway down, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"Miss Faulks?"
I freeze. Every muscle locks. The backpack suddenly weighs a thousand pounds.
Marcus's silhouette materializes at the bottom of the stairs—broad shoulders, that slight limp from an old injury. "Is everything alright?"
Think. Think.
"I couldn't sleep." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Thought I'd get some water."
He moves closer, and the light catches his face. Concern etched into the lines around his eyes. The same concern he's worn since I was a child, since he pulled me out of the pool when I nearly drowned at seven.
This would be easier if he were cruel.
"Let me get that for you, miss." His gaze drops to the boots in my hand. Lingers there. "You shouldn't be wandering around at night."
My fingers tighten around the laces. "I can manage."
"I'm afraid I must insist." His tone shifts—still kind, but firm. Immovable. "Your father's orders. You're not to be unescorted anywhere. Even within the house."
The walls contract. The air thins.
"Of course." I force the words out. "How silly of me to forget."
He leads me back upstairs. His footsteps are heavy, deliberate. Mine feel like a death march. At my door, he pauses.
"Miss Faulks." His voice drops low. "I know this is difficult. But please understand—we're just trying to keep you safe."
Safe.The word tastes like a lie.
I nod. Don't trust myself to speak. The door closes, and I sink to the floor, back pressed against cool wood. The backpack slides off my shoulders.
Attempt one: failed.
I crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.
Pre-dawn light bleedsgray through my windows. I've always loved sunrises—used to sneak out to watch them from the east garden, the world quiet and new and full of possibility.
Surely they can't deny me that.
I dress quickly in yesterday's clothes. No backpack this time. Nothing suspicious. Just a girl wanting to greet the day.
The hallway outside my room is empty. Silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock at the far end. Hope flutters in my chest—fragile, desperate.
I make it all the way to the back door. My hand closes around the handle, cool brass under my palm.
