Then both men bolted.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t coordinated. It was the desperate, animal panic of two people who had just been told their lives depended on running fast enough.
Jeremiah stumbled first, nearly tripping over his own feet before catching himself and sprinting for the staircase. Mills went the other direction.
Jeremiah ran wildly, uncoordinated, his breath coming in ragged bursts even as he disappeared down the hall.
Mills ran like a man who thought he could win. He didn’t waste time looking around or panicking. He simply picked a direction and moved.
Within seconds, both of them had vanished deeper into the house.
Their footsteps echoed down separate hallways, then slowly became quieter, with the occasional noise reaching us.
Ronan leaned casually against the table and checked his phone. “Four minutes and fifty seconds,” he announced.
I tried not to picture the two men scrambling through the house, ripping open closet doors, checking under beds, searching desperately for somewhere—anywhere—to hide.
Don’t think about them.
“Three minutes, forty seconds,” Ronan hummed to himself.
Hayes idly spun one of the little knives between his fingers.
Hudson wandered over to the windows, peering out into the dark forest like a weirdo.
Lane leaned over to whisper something to Oliver that made him give a nervous laugh.
Dorian’s fingers traced slowly along the back of my neck.
“You’re tense,” he murmured.
“No I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m trying to focus on our plan.”
He chuckled quietly against my ear, “Good boy.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Two minutes, fifteen seconds,” Ronan checked the timer again.
“Think they’ll end up hiding together?” Lane asked.
“No way,” Hudson said immediately. “That’d be stupid.”
“One minute.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Everyone straightened a little, like runners leaning forward before the starting gun.
“Thirty seconds.” Ronan pushed himself upright.
Dorian squeezed my shoulder. “Ready, angel?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
