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“Speaking of your father, I was going to ask you?—”
“Mom, I have to go. My phone’s really about to die.”
“Okay, sweetheart, I love you. Have a great time on the rest of your writing retreat. Tell Saint I say hi!”
“I love you too,” I say quickly before hanging up.
I lunge for my phone charger, but the light above my head flickers out. When I plug my phone in, it doesn’t charge.
Shit. The power’s out. I try to turn on the flashlight on my phone, but it dies.
Of fucking course. I have no clue where the breaker is in this giant house, and now I can’t call Saint to tell him to get his ass home to turn the power back on.
I don’t even know where he keeps any of his emergency supplies. But I do know there are still candles around the bathtub and hopefully a lighter.
I fumble my way to the bathroom, keeping my hand glued to the wall to guide my path. In the bathroom, I manage to grasp a lighter near the sink and a half-burnt candle on the tub. The flickering wick doesn’t offer much light, but it’s better than nothing.
A thud from downstairs makes my spine stiffen. “Saint?”
The small flame dances near my cupped hand and the hairs on the back of my neck rise in the ensuing silence. Saint’s voice doesn’t come.
Maybe something fell. Maybe it was snow falling off a branch outside or a rodent in the walls. Better yet, maybe the sound was nothing more than my imagination.
Who am I kidding? It’s a fucking murderer who’s here to kill me now that I’m alone.
And I just let them know exactly where to find me.
My heart thuds, and I race back to the bedroom to grab the gun Saint keeps in his bedside drawer. Not that I have any fucking clue how to use it. How do I even load the thing?
When I yank the drawer open, my heart stops.
The gun is gone. Shit. Saint must’ve taken it with him.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I don’t know where he keeps any of his other secret weapons up here. For all I know, he was joking about owning a gun for each of his enemies and there’s only one pistol left in this house—the one beside the front doors.
The intruder is between me and my only hope for survival.
In the darkness, footsteps creep slowly up the winding staircase. I stop breathing, sliding the drawer silently shut. What the hell do I do? I don’t have a weapon to fight off whoever’s in the house with me, and they sure as hell didn’t break into Nicholson Manor unarmed.
I’m outmatched. In a mansion I’m completely unfamiliar with. But if this is a stranger, they’ve likely never been in Nicholson Manor at all. At least I have a slight edge there, especially in the dark.
I set the flickering candle down on the bedside table and sneak across the wide hall to Saint’s office, the footsteps of the intruder reaching the top of the staircase.
Sucking in a deep, silent breath and holding it, I listen intently as the intruder dares to shuffle down the hallway. My nails curl into fists as I flatten my back against the wall beside the door.
The floorboards creak under the intruder’s weight, growing slightly fainter as they follow my candle into Saint’s bedroom. I can’t tell if the footsteps belong to a man or a woman.
I dare a peek around the open doorway, hoping I’ll find Saint’s towering frame and laugh in relief.
But the intruder has already extinguished the burning flame on the candle. Plunging the room into darkness and them into the shadows.
I don’t give the intruder time to turn and find me watching them in the dark. I break into a sprint, lungs burning as I run faster and harder than I ever have in my life.
Footsteps thunder behind me, tearing down the staircase and slamming into the railing.
Heart about to burst in my chest, my feet hit the landing, and I hip-check a hard, sharp wooden edge, grimacing at the pain and whatever ceramic decor smashes to the floor behind me.
