“Oh my god,” Archie whispers.
“Do you guys realize what this means?”
My throat feels dry.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
Fear finally settles in my chest like a stone.
“We weren’t invited to a party.”
Theron’s voice is barely audible.
“We were selected.”
The word echoes in my head.
Selected.
For what?
My eyes drift toward the heavy door at the end of the room.
Something cold curls in my gut.
Because deep down…
I think we already know the answer.
And whatever comes next—
Is probably going to be worse than anything we’re imagining.
****
For a moment none of us say anything.
The realization sits between us like a loaded gun.
Selected.
The word echoes in my head again, louder this time.
I rub my palms against my jeans, suddenly aware that my hands are shaking.
“Okay,” Archie says finally, breaking the awkward silence between us.
“So… just to recap.”
He gestures vaguely around the room.
“We went to a creepy rich people party, got roofied, woke up in a suspiciously villain-looking basement with a bunch of other dudes.”
He pauses.
“Which by the way, is exactly how the worst true crime documentaries start.”
Theron exhales through his nose.