I don’t cry. I won’t give him—or whoever is listening outside my door—the satisfaction of hearing me break down. But God, I feel the tears pressing behind my eyes like shards of glass.
I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here.
I don’t know if I’ll ever escape.
Everything seems completely hopeless right now.
When one a.m. strikes, I force myself back onto my feet. At the very least, I have to find a way to get my hands on a phone. If not to contact someone from the outside world to help me get out of here, it would at least give me some kind of lifeline to what’s going on outside the walls of Sasha’s estate.
I can’t let him cut me off from everything.
My legs are stiff, half-numb from hours spent curled in front of the fire, but adrenaline laces through me the moment I head for the door. I cross the room in three strides and wrap my fingersaround the door handle, finding myself letting out a small, stunned breath when I actually move it.
It turns…
Itactuallyturns.
For a moment, I just stand there frozen by the shock of it. Nothing in this place is accidental. Sasha Sokolov doesn’t make mistakes like this. His men don’t either. So why?
I don’t have time to unravel the logic. Whether it’s divine intervention, a guard shift happening at the right time, or simple neglect, I’m not wasting the opportunity.
I pull the door open an inch and peek through the crack. The hallway beyond is dim, washed in a soft amber glow from the sconces lining the walls. The bulbs flicker every few seconds with the faux flame setting, casting momentary shadows that stretch and retract like restless creatures.
There are no guards in sight, no heavy boots pacing or hushed voices spilling from down the hallway.
There is nothing but silence.
The estate hasn’t been this quiet since I got here. There has always been some kind of movement going on, but apparently, tonight is different. Whoever had been stationed outside my door has vanished. Either they’ve retired for the night believing my outburst at dinner left me too defeated to try anything…
Or there’s been a shift change, giving me a temporary blind spot.
Either way, I’d be an idiot not to use it.
I pull the door closed behind me, careful not to let it click too loudly when it slides into the jamb again. I gather myself witha deep inhale and then begin down the hallway. The sconces stretch my shadow across the wall, elongating my body in unnatural and frankly grotesque ways.
I reach the end of the hallway and pause at the intersection where a narrow staircase winds down toward the main floor. My hand braces against the banister beside me as I head down the stairs and try to orient myself once I reach the bottom. Looking around, I have no real sense of the layout of this place. Every hallway in front of me looks the same, every turn looks just familiar enough to be the last.
It’s like this house has been designed to mirror a labyrinth, deliberately deceptive to swallow people like me whole before ever getting the chance to see even a sliver of sunlight.
I draw in a shaky breath and force myself to focus, eyes darting to the corners of the two hallways in front of me. They drift up toward the ceiling slowly, finding no small lenses glinting back at me, no blinking red lights pointed my way.
The absence of cameras feels… suspicious.
Sasha Sokolov doesn’t strike me as the type of man to leave anything unmonitored. He is meticulous—obsessively so. He’s the type of man who sees ten moves past everyone else. There’s no universe in which he wouldn’t monitor his own estate.
So, where are the cameras?
I scan back up the staircase again and then around to the hallways ahead, slower this time.
A cold realization prickles down my spine.
Unless the surveillance system is meant to be invisible. That the cameras are integrated into the sconces, the molding, the vents,tiny enough to evade a casual sweep but sophisticated enough to transmit everything back to some hub stationed deep inside this estate.
What if he’s watching me right now?
My gaze flicks back to the shadows clinging to the stairwell.
The silence feels unnatural, but continuing to stand here and debate it isn’t an option. If Sasha is watching, then he already knows what I’m doing. If he isn’t, then this might be the only sliver of opportunity I’ll ever get to play my own hand at his game.
