Getting out in case there’s an emergency would be hell. I do my best to memorize the path, praying I won’t need it.
“This way,” Mary quips, disappearing into a narrow staircase.
I catch up to her, holding my dress to keep the hem off the floor and away from my feet.
The steps spiral upward, going on and on until we reach the top. Mary stands by a wide, black door. She puts a finger to her lips, the universal gesture forsilence.
Obeying her verges on the impossible. I can’t help shifting on my feet, fighting the urge to storm in there and demand he speak to me. The faster we end this, the faster I can return to my room and sleep off this terrible day. Either that, or I’ll close my eyes for the last time.
I pray I won’t.
Mary steps toward me, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
“Shh.” Quickly and efficiently, she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You’ll be fine.”
It’s like she’s heard my thoughts. Or maybe she feels the need to soothe me, to reassure me I won’t die here.
My chest is warm for a second before my nerves get the best of me again.
“Mary?”
“Quiet, Miss Montgomery. It’s time.”
She curls her hand into a fist and raps her knuckles against the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
No one answers.
She opens it anyway, stepping aside to beckon me in.
The Restorer still doesn’t greet us. Not even now, as we stand in the doorway. I don’t see him. Don’t hear him. No shadow cuts through the dim light, no movement at all.
I expected a violent monster to lunge at me. Or a cocky man to treat me like he owned me, same as he did last night.
This… What is this?
I don’t know, and it terrifies me.
That’s why, instead of prowling in and launching into the speech I rehearsed, I freeze. My feet refuse to cooperate. My mouth goes dry. My tongue turns heavy.
“Go on,” Mary whispers.
Though she might like me, she has her orders. I get that. It’s fine.
I’ll follow his orders too. I’ll play along, but only after I draw my line in the sand.
I’ve got this.
Chin lifted, I step inside.
Mary’s warm hand lands on the small of my back. Her touch doesn’t feel invasive. If anything, it steadies me. Grounds me.
But then the air shifts, becoming somehow denser.
My pulse is all over the place as she guides me toward the only light source in the room.
A lone beam falls from the ceiling, illuminating a low, square pedestal, no higher than two or three steps.
