Janelle steadied her breath, the whisper curling through the air like a thread of smoke.
“Janelle.”
It wasn’t her imagination. Someone was here.
She tightened her grip on the key, its cool metal grounding her, and stepped into the stone corridor. The walls were ancient, rough-hewn, not part of the modern mansion above. As she moved deeper, the light behind her faded, swallowed by the narrowing passage.
Then, a faint shuffle ahead.
She froze.
Out of the shadows, a figure emerged. A man, his form barely visible in the dim light filtering through cracks in the stone. He was tall and thin, wearing a tattered coat, his face obscured by unkempt hair and timeworn features. But his eyes recognized her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. His voice was hoarse, weighted with something dangerous.
Janelle narrowed her gaze, her pulse racing. “Neither should you,” she mustered the courage to say, feigning the fear racing down her spine.
The man exhaled sharply, glancing toward the end of the corridor, where the walls seemed to curve into deeper shadows.
“There’s still time for you to leave.”
Janelle set her jaw. “But not for you?”
Silence.
Then, the mansion above groaned, its walls tightening as if responding to their exchange.
“Who was he, a survivor, a warning, or something else entirely?” Janelle’s mind raced out of control in fear and wonder.