The British man—his handler, his employee, whatever he is—doesn't speak.
Just leads us deeper into the mansion.
Finally, we reach a door. Heavy wood. Brass handle.
He opens it.
"Wait here," he says, gesturing for me to enter. "Mr. Sutherland will join you shortly."
I step inside because what choice do I have?
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I'm alone.
For the first time in hours, I'm alone.
The room is small.
Elegant.
A sitting room, maybe. Or a study.
There's a fireplace with a real fire burning, flames dancing over split logs.
Two leather armchairs.
A small table between them with a crystal decanter and two glasses.
Windows looking out onto darkness.
I go to the windows and press my forehead against the cold glass.
Below, I can see the edge of the island, the dock where boats are moored.
The mansion sits on a cliff.
Water surrounds us on all sides.
Dark water that reflects the lights from the house, making everything look like it's floating in space.
So close. The boats are so close.
I could run.
Right now.
Could try to find a way down to that dock, could steal a boat, could?—
Could what?
I don't know how to drive a boat.
Don't know where I am.
Don't know which direction land is or how far.
And even if I made it, even if I somehow escaped this island, where would I go?
