The air is cool but not cold. The lights are dim but not dark, casting long shadows along the walls. The hum of machinery fills the air.
People move purposefully, engrossed in their tasks. I feel like an intruder stumbling into a secret world. I stumble backward, and my spine hits a wall. My head jerks backward, finding a door labeledLibrarybehind me.
Swallowing thickly, I look to my left, then my right, finding an entire hall full of similar doors, all labeled.
Someone shoots me a smile, but it drops a second later. He steps forward, and I flinch. He looks alarmed, and try as I might, I can’t get myself together to reassure him. What would I even say? I’m the one that doesn’t belong. I’m the one who doesn’t even know where she is. I’m the one crying, covered in blood in an evening dress, trying not to puke my fucking brains out.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Do you need help?” He looks all over, his body tensing as if I might be in danger.
My eyes dart over his frame. He’s a little taller than me and maybe around the same age. His hair is blonde and curly, his skin pale. I idly trace the freckles covering his nose before my gaze snaps to his soft brown eyes. The man is wearing a black polo with an emblem I can’t decipher across a pocket filled with pens. Below is a pair of nice dark slacks and shiny leather shoes.
He looks…
Fuck, he looksnice.
So nice that my shoulders drop, and I sink into the door.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t to meet someone my age that makes me want to ask for a hug.
“Miss?” he prompts, taking a step closer. My heart picks up again, and my head shakes against my will, my fingers digging into my thighs. His throat bobs, and he freezes. “Shit. I’m sorry.I’m not trying to scare you.” He spears his hand through his hair. “My name is Oliver. What’s yours?”
“E-El-” I grit my teeth against the stammering. “Ella.”
He nods slowly. “Okay, Ella.” His eyes scan me before pausing on my bloody hands. “Are you hurt?” I shake my head. “Is someone else hurt?”
I let out a keening sound that I can’t hold back, and Oliver jolts. Nausea returns full force as I think about Hunter’s last breaths in my arms. I slap a hand over my mouth, then choke on a sob when I see his blood all over again.
“Bath–room,” I barely grit out between clenched teeth.
His eyes gape. “Fuck.” Then, his hand is wrapping around mine. I squeal a pathetic sound that I’ll regret later, but before I can say anything, we’re moving. He tugs me along, his feet moving swiftly, and looks at me over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but you look lost, and this place is a goddamned maze.”
“Okay,” I rasp before cupping my mouth again.
He picks up pace with a curse. “Please don’t vomit on my back.” He gags as he takes a sharp right. “I’m a sympathetic puker.”
“Okay,” I repeat, the sound muffled. As we run through the slippery halls, I keep one hand over my mouth, the other bunched in my long dress, and take in the building.
I want to ask questions, and something tells me Oliver will give me the answers, but I can barely think past keeping my stomach contents intact, let alone how to ask what I need to without getting sent back to that fucking office.
The underground bunker stretches before me with its long, unadorned halls, a labyrinth of metallic corridors that seem to extend into infinity. There’s an eerie vibe to the surroundings, devoid of any decor or personal touches, as if function and secrecy take precedence over comfort.
Yellow lines are painted onto the cold, unfeeling grey walls, their bright hue providing the only hint of color in this otherwise monochromatic landscape.
The floors beneath my hurried footsteps gleam with a reflective sheen, an unforgiving surface that echoes with each footfall. It’s as if the entire building is polished to perfection, adding an unsettling, almost clinical quality to the atmosphere. The cold, impersonal air sends shivers coursing through my body as I run, my breath whooshing between my fingers.
The hallways seem to stretch on endlessly, making it all too easy to lose one’s way in this intricate maze, and I idly wonder if that’s on purpose. Everything about Madeline seems to radiate secrecy, my life being the prime example.
“How much lo—”
“Right here!” He grunts, his feet freezing so quickly my front collides with his back. Oliver grunts and practically boot-kicks a door open before unconsciously shoving me through.
I stumble, shooting him a glare over my shoulder, but his hand is slapped over his eyes, and his throat is bobbing restlessly.
“Alrighty,” he chokes out, saluting me with his free hand. “Catch ya’ around, Ella!”
I nearly chuckle at his awkwardness, but as he releases the door, his foot falls back to the ground, panic claws at me all over.
“Wait!” I practically scream, wincing when my voice bounces off the walls.
