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“Stay quiet,” Enzo whispers. I nod, though he’s not looking at me anyway, and shut the door as silently as possible. Which isn’t very quiet given the hinges sound like they came from a different century and have never been oiled.
He quickly walks to the kitchen, grabs a huge knife that Sylvester uses to fillet the fish, and then walks back to hand it to me.
“Stay here. I’m going to check every room to make sure he’s gone. If you see him, stab him.”
I stare down at the knife and begin to shake, nearly stabbing Enzo in my attempt to hand it back. I’d rather take the gun.
“No, thanks,” I say, my voice uneven and tight.
His brows lower. “Sawyer, I’m not leaving you unprotected. You need to take it.”
“Can’t I just go with you? Haven’t you seen the horror movies? Separating isnevera good idea. And I’m in more danger of getting shot if you’re not here.”
“I’d still like you to hold on to it,” he insists, grabbing my wrist and forcing it in my fist. My face twists with discomfort, but I don’t argue.
He studies me closely, almost critically, as if trying to figure out a math problem. Eventually, he turns and heads toward the staircase while I follow close behind.
We try to keep our steps light, but the metal is no better than the door and groans beneath our weight as we ascend.
Up here, the air feels denser. For a moment, it feels like I can’t take in a deep enough breath. We check the small closet first, then our room, the bathroom, and lastly, Sylvester’s room.
He’s nowhere to be found. It’s deathly quiet in here and nearly impossible to move through this place without making some type of sound. Unless he’s standing as still as a statue—he’s not here.
I’m not sure if that makes me feel better. While living with Sylvester is far from comfortable, it was still the danger you know and all that. Now the danger is as unknown as his whereabouts.
We know the beacon is still in commission and that he’s had access from the day we shipwrecked, so there’s still a chance he’s here, just not anywhere we can see.
“We need to board up the windows and door so he can’t get in,” Enzo says quietly. The way he’s talking only confirms my own fears. He speaks as if Sylvester might hear us.
“What if we’re locking him in with us?” I ask.
The corners of his eyes tighten. “We’re going to make sure we have a quick escape route.”
Before I can question how, he heads into Sylvester’s room and slides open his closet. Then, he begins tearing clothing off the hangers and extra bedsheets from a shelf above.
After our arms are full, he heads back into our bedroom and softly closes the door.
It takes me only a second to catch on when he starts stringing the material together into a rope.
“This is going to be attached to our bed at all times,” he explains. “If anything happens, this is our way out.”
I frown. “The window is nailed shut.”
“No, it’s not.”
I blink, my brow pinching as I go to investigate. I distinctly remember the nails pinning it down when we arrived.
However, when I check over it now, I find that the nails have been removed.
“When…”
“I started removing them after we got here.”
My mouth pops open. This whole time, he’s been removing them, and I never noticed. Sylvester must not have, either. It’s definitely something he would’ve spoken up about if he had.
“You sneaky dog,” I mutter, grinning at him.
He gives me a pointed look. “I may have given the impression that I was playing by his rules,bella, but I will never allow someone to imprison me.”
