Her lips curled into a snarl that made her perfect face downright terrifying. Then, she turned and stalked out, heels hammering against the floor, staff flanking her like shadowy parentheses. Number One followed, muttering curses I couldn’t make out.
The doors shut behind them with a soft, heavy thud. Silence rolled through the dining room like fog rolling in off Mobile Bay.
Henry lifted his glass again, utterly unbothered.
“As I said,” he murmured, “be very careful. The Game rewards resilience, not spite.” He set the glass down with a quiet click. “Please. Eat. Enjoy your evening. You’ll need your strength for the challenges to come.”
Conversations limped back to life in fits and starts. No one looked directly at me now. They looked near me. Around me. Over my shoulder. Glances skated off Jacob like he was radioactive.
I stared down at my plate.
“Hey,” Jacob murmured. For a moment, he moved as if to reach out and touch me, but he thought better of it and grabbed hiswater glass instead. His knee bumped mine under the table, just once. “You did nothing wrong.”
“He just kicked two people out for jumping to conclusions I might have been inclined to draw myself, if our roles were reversed,” I whispered. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“Henry doesn’t like people fucking with the plan,” he said. “That’s all that was.”
“The plan,” I echoed.
“To give everyone a fair shot,” he said, after the slightest hesitation. “To see what you all do under pressure.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but right now, I couldn’t think about anything except the way my hands were still shaking and the pounding behind my eyes.
I forced myself to eat another few bites. To answer a couple of polite, surface-level questions from the woman on my left. To nod when someone made a bland comment about the lodge being beautiful.
It was beautiful, in that gothic, predatory way old things sometimes were.
By the time dessert appeared — a piece of something chocolate and delicate and utterly unnecessary — I couldn’t stomach another bite.
Henry rose again, glass in hand.
“Thank you for your attention this evening,” he said. “You’re welcome to linger here for coffee and conversation, or retire toyour rooms. You’ll each find a small gift from Mr. Stonewood and further instructions waiting for you.”
My pulse tripped over itself.
Gifts? Instructions?
I couldn’t sit still a second longer.
“I need to—” I started.
Jacob pushed his chair back at the same time I did.
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t quite an order, either. It was somewhere between the two.
“I’ve already gotten you in enough trouble for one day,” I whispered.
His eyes met mine through the mask.
“Trust me, Miss Jones,” he said. “You haven’t even scratched the surface. Trouble and I are old friends, at this point.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, either.
But my chair was already pushed back, my napkin already on the table. My legs moved on autopilot, carrying me away from the candles and the eyes and the man at the head of the table who’d just casually removed two people from the Game like he was deleting spam emails.
I didn’t look at anyone as I left the dining room. I refused to look over at the man in the ill-fitting tux whose gaze I could feel like a palm tracing my cheek and the column of my throat.
I just walked up the stairs, down the corridor, toward Room Eighteen and whatever waited for me on the other side of that door.
