* * *
KENZO LEADS THE WAY,MILLIE TRAILING INhis wake.
It’s so quiet now, especially compared to the noise of that first day, the bustle of seven strangers vying for rooms, telling jokes, and taking up space. Now the whole place has an awful stillness, but it’s not the kind that feels empty. If anything, it feels full. Heavy, the way your lungs are when you’re holding your breath.
Inside, the castle may be quiet, but outside the storm is really picking up. Wind whistles through the gap beneath the front door, and she can hear the dull roar of waves against the cliffs, even through the walls. She thinks of the placid beach where she found Jaxon, the water cold but almost still, and knows that if she could see it now, it would be churning.
They pass the library—Cate’s no longer there—and Fletch’s office, where the number of hours on the safe has somehow slipped from22to21, time melting away. They’re halfway across the foyer when a gust of wind slams into the house so hard it sends a window somewhere crashing open, a door slamming shut.
She jumps, and Kenzo trips, nearly fumbling the tray of food as he stumbles straight toward the mass of antlers on the table.
Millie’s hand shoots out at the last second, steadying him as he in turn steadies the tray, somehow managing not to lose the pasta, upend the water, or impale himself on the morbid sculpture.
His breath comes rushing out in relief.
“That was close.” He looks down at the rug as if it’s hurt his feelings. It’s gotten rucked up. Millie smooths it and then notices Jaxon’s hoodie—the one with the sleeves hacked off—on the table. She thinks of taking it up to him, some kind of peace offering, but then thinks better of it. The two continue up the stairs. This time, both of them avoid the bloodstain on the landing.
Millie’s heart starts to beat a little faster with every upward step, and by the time they reach the top, she wishes she’d stayed down in the well-lit kitchen with Priscilla, instead of here, alone, with Kenzo. But it’s too late now, and at least he didn’t bring his ax.
When they reach the room, Kenzo knocks, but Jaxon doesn’t answer.
Millie rolls her eyes. “Moody, much?”
Kenzo knocks again. “Jaxon? We have food.”
When there’s still no answer, Kenzo shoots Millie a concerned look, which makes her nervous. She’s never seen Kenzo worried before. He hands her the tray so he can dig the room key from his pocket, and slides it into the lock.
“Jaxon, we’re coming in,” he says, before he turns the key and the door falls open.
Millie half expects to find Jaxon standing there, arms crossed, by the window, his back turned as he sulks.
But that’s not what she sees.
The tray slips from her hands, the contents crashing to the floor as Kenzo curses under his breath.
Because Jaxon Knight is sitting at his desk, a length of black wrapped like a scarf around his throat.
And he’s dead.
Chapter Four
IDID THIS.
That’s Millie’s first thought as she takes in the scene.
Jaxon sagging in the chair, his head slumped to one side, his face beet-red and his eyes wide open, empty and staring ather.
I did this.
Kenzo is saying something, but it’s drowned out by the roaring in her head. Waves crashing over her, trying to drown her.
Just like they drowned Arthur Fletch.
She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—and nearly laughs, because oh god, what an actual cliché—then tries to take a step toward Jaxon, but her legs have turned to stone, so all she can do is stand and face what she’s done.
“Millie?”
If she had just kept her mouth shut, or at least, admitted that she wasn’t a hundred percent sure what she saw on the cliff, Jaxon wouldn’t have gotten locked in here, alone, like a sitting duck... or a sacrificial lamb... Why are there so many animal metaphors? She giggles, and immediately realizes how unhinged that is. She clamps a hand over her mouth.
