Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle. The door swings open with a soft creak, revealing what appears to be a small closet. Low light spills through a tiny window near the ceiling, illuminating bare walls and empty shelves. But Gran’s presence is overwhelming here – like she’s been in this space recently.
I step inside, scanning every inch of the cramped space for clues. There has to be something, some hint of where they’ve taken her-
The sound of the door slamming shut behind me echoes like a gunshot in the confined space.
Shit!
I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat as darkness engulfs me. My hands find the door handle, but it won’t budge.
“No, no, no…” I yank harder, but the door remains firmly sealed.
My fingers scrabble across the door’s surface, searching for any weakness. Nothing. Just smooth, unyielding wood that seems to mock my efforts. The tiny window near the ceiling is barely bigger than my fist – no escape there.
Fine. If brute force won’t work, magic will. I gather my power, channeling it into a blast that should reduce the door to splinters. The energy surges through me, but when it hits the door…nothing. Not even a scratch.
“What the hell?” I try again, pouring more power into the spell. The magic just…dissipates, sizzling like water hitting hot stone, the strength leeched from it. My heart pounds faster as Irealize none of my spells are working. The darkness feels thicker now, pressing against my skin.
Don’t panic. Think.
But the sense of being trapped is becoming overwhelming now. The walls feel like they’re pressing in on me, and I struggle to catch my breath. Until it occurs to me…
The walls…something’s wrong with the walls.
I press my palms against them, and my stomach drops. They’re moving. Slowly, inexorably, the room is getting narrower.
They literallyareclosing in on me.
“No.” The word comes out as a whisper. I’ve never been great with small spaces, and now the closet feels even smaller than before. I can barely stretch my arms out to either side.
I throw everything I have at the walls – binding spells, protection wards, raw magical force. Each spell seems to make the walls move faster, as if feeding off my power. The ceiling starts to lower, and real panic sets in.
“Stop!” I scream, hurling spell after spell at the shrinking space. But it only makes it worse. The walls are definitely closing in faster now, and I can feel the ceiling pressing down. The room that was barely big enough for a closet is now barely bigger than a coffin.
My breath comes in sharp gasps as claustrophobia claws at my chest. I can’t move, can barely think. The walls press closer, and my magic flares wildly, desperately, only to be absorbed by whatever dark force is controlling this trap.
God, you’re such an idiot, Kara!
Of course this was a trap. Whatever I felt – the echoes of Gran’s presence – was designed to lure me here. Gran isn’t in this place.
Only death is.
The walls pull closer, squeezing the air from my lungs, the room shrinking faster with frightening speed.
Oh, God. This is how I die.
The thought hits me with mind-numbing clarity. Alone in this trap, my power useless, slowly crushed to death in an unholy box that seems to be designed specifically to kill witches. The irony would be funny if I wasn’t about to become its latest victim.
Images flash through my mind – Mom’s face when they tell her they found my body, Dad trying to be strong while falling apart inside. Rowan… God, Rowan will blame herself for letting me go alone. And Gran… If she’s still alive, this will destroy her.
I should have waited. Should have listened. Should have…
The ceiling presses against my head now, forcing me to crouch. Soon, I won’t even be able to do that. Pride wars with survival instinct as the space grows impossibly smaller. I’ve never needed help before – I’m the strong one, the capable one. The thought of crying out makes me want to scream in frustration.
But as the walls close in further, crushing me from all sides, pride loses to raw terror.
“Help!” The word tears from my throat. “Somebody help me!”
I don’t care anymore if it’s Lucien himself who answers – anything is better than this slow, agonizing death. “Please! I’m in here!”
