Emerson murmurs, “Metal doors. At least we don’t have to worry about someone firing through.” He tries to sound steady, but we all hear the quiver he chokes back.
Rowan’s jaw ticks. “We clear them in order. No skipping. If she’s not behind the first one, she’ll be behind the next.”
Or she won’t be in any of them at all.
That thought punches me in the ribs, but I shove it down and gesture to the first door on the left. Emerson swings it open while Rowan and I cover angles. Empty. No furniture, restraints, or signs that anyone has ever stepped foot inside.
“Fuck,” Rowan mutters. “Alright, next.”
We cross to the door opposite. Same procedure. I push this one open.
Another empty room. Bare walls. No smell of blood. No sound.
A pressure builds behind my eyes. Panic trying to claw its way in.
“Still nothing,” Emerson hisses. “Why set up decoy rooms?"
“Because he’s a coward,” I grit out. “And because he knows we’re coming."
We move to the next door on the left. Rowan’s hand trembles once on the handle before he forces it steady. He pushes it open.
More empty space.
He curses, voice cracking. “Three rooms empty? Why the hell would there be three empty rooms up here? What is this place?”
“A maze,” Emerson answers tightly. “A distraction. Keep going.”
Fourth door. Right side. Emerson opens it fast. We sweep low and high.
Empty.
Again.
My pulse spikes, a knife against the inside of my throat. “This isn’t right. If neither of them is here, then where the hell—”
“Don’t say it,” Rowan cuts in sharply, voice frayed. “Don’t you fucking say it.”
“I’m not going to lie to you,” Emerson murmurs. “We could be too late. They might’ve moved them. Or—”
“Or there’s a way out we missed,” Rowan snaps. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, eyes wide and haunted. “We should’ve checked the blueprints again. Or a basement door we didn’t see. Or—”
“Stop,” I growl. “Panicking won’t get us to them any faster."
But my stomach is dropping like a stone because he’s voicing every thought I haven’t dared.
Two doors left.
The last door to the right and the heavy metal door at the end of the hall.
They have to be behind one of them. They have to.
Emerson’s face drains of color as he stares between me and Rowan. “If these next two are empty…”
Rowan finishes it for him, voice flat and raw. “Then we’re fucked.”
We converge on the last right-hand door, shoulders locked tight, breaths sharp and shallow. My pulse hammers so violently I taste metal. Every instinct I’ve ever trusted is screaming at me that Kimber and Berk are close. And we’re running out of time.
Rowan crouches first, fingertips brushing the metal. “This one’s got an exterior lock,” he whispers. “Like someone wanted to keep whoever’s inside… in.”