His footsteps shifted slightly, indicating he was turning toward the door.
“And if you need help familiarizing yourself with the room or the rest of the house,” he added, “send for me. I’ll be happy to return.”
Then the sound of movement.
The door opened.
A faint shift of air as he stepped out.
And then—
Click.
Silence returned instantly.
I stood still for a long moment, letting the room breathe around me.
A new space always felt like this at first—like it was watching you learn it before it allowed itself to be understood.
I inhaled slowly.
Then I started toward where I believed the bed should be.
Three steps.
Four.
On the fifth, my shin slammed into something hard and unyielding.
Pain exploded through my leg.
A sharp gasp escaped me as I stumbled sideways, catching myself before I could fall.
“Damn it.”
I bent instinctively, my fingers finding the edge of what felt like a low upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.
Warmth trickled down my shin.
I touched the spot carefully and felt a thin line of broken skin. When my fingertips came away damp, I knew I was bleeding.
I hissed through my teeth and straightened.
So much for building a perfect map on the first attempt.
I reached out, searching for the vanity Ramiro had described, my fingers sweeping through empty air until they knocked into something small and fragile—probably a decorative box.
It tipped over with a soft clatter, but I barely registered it.
My focus was already narrowing, shrinking down to the one thing I needed in this moment: the house phone.
My fingertips slid across the polished surface, slipping slightly on the faint warmth of my own blood.
The contact made my stomach twist, but I ignored it.
The phone finally came into reach.
I fumbled it closer, my hands unsteady now, and pressed it against my ear. My thumb found the button by instinct alone.
