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"Shit!" I yelped, dropping the thing like it’d bitten me. It clattered to the floor, the sound echoing ominously. The surge left me as quickly as it came, but it felt like a warning—one I wasn't keen on testing again.
Okay, so maybe slightly cursed. I amended, backing away from the fallen blade. Or maybe Nash has some seriously whacked-out security system for his antiques.
My breaths came out in uneven puffs, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just poked a sleeping dragon with a veryshort stick.
My chest tightened, breaths shallow and erratic as whispers swirled around me. The room spun, each ancient artifact blurring into a dizzying carousel of silent judgment.
I stumbled back, the walls of the passageway pressing close like the hands of a smothering lover. My heart hammered against my ribcage, a desperate plea for escape, but my legs were traitors, heavy and uncooperative.
"Get it together," I hissed, my voice lost in the symphony of voices that weren't mine. They clawed at the edges of my consciousness, demanding attention with an urgency that bordered on mania. Each whisper was a thread, tugging me towards madness.
"Fuck this," I swore, pivoting on a heel that felt like it was mired in quicksand. Blind panic propelled me forward, my bare feet slapping against cold stone as I fled from the oppressive presence of the relics. The mansion's opulent corridors were a blur—just streaks of color and light as I careened towards the sanctuary of my room.
By the time I burst through the door, my lungs burned with the effort of dragging in air. I slammed it shut and leaned heavily against the wood, willing the world to stop spinning. "Breathe, breathe, breathe," I repeated like some kind of messed-up mantra, but my body wasn't listening.
"Shit!" The curse was punctuated by a sob as I slid down to the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest. My mind was a thunderstorm, thoughts colliding and sparking panic with every bolt. Aria's face flashed before my eyes, her ghostly image woven into the onslaught of visions that plagued me.
That's when the door crashed open, and Nash loomed in the doorway like some avenging angel—or devil, depending on the day. His brown eyes scanned me quickly, dark brows furrowed in unmistakable concern.
"Jesus Christ, Celeste. What the hell happened?" he demanded, striding over to where I quaked on the floor.
"Visions... Voices..." I managed to choke out between jagged breaths.
His hands were surprisingly gentle as they steadied my shoulders, grounding me in the reality of his touch. The storm inside me quieted to a dull roar, his presence calm to the chaos of my senses.
"Talk to me," Nash urged, his voice low and steady. "Start from the beginning."
I hauled myself up, Nash's grip firm on my arm. "There's a fucking secret passageway," I blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "In the hallway. Found it chasing a goddamn ghost—or what looked like one." I braced for his scoff, the roll of his eyes that said I'd finally lost it.
But Nash...he didn't do any of that. His eyes widened, an edge of shock cutting through the brown depths. "Show me," he commanded, the words slicing through the fog of my panic.
"Really?" Skepticism laced my tone, disbelief that he'd entertain what sounded like the ramblings of a lunatic.
"Lead the way, Celeste." There was no mockery there, just a steely insistence that sent shivers down my spine.
"Fine," I muttered, padding down the corridor with nothing but a towel and defiance as my armor. The chill of the mansion seeped into my bones, but I pushed forward, driven by a need to prove I wasn't entirely unhinged.
I stopped before the dead end, my hand trembling as I reached for the hidden latch. "Here," I said, more to myself than to him, as the door creaked open to reveal the dimly lit staircase spiraling downward.
Nash brushed past me, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cold stone around us. We descended, the air growing heavier with each step until we reached the mystical room—its walls lined with relics that whispered of ancient times and forbidden knowledge.
"This," I pointed to the relic I had touched, still lying where I'd dropped it, its surface catching the flickering light. "It felt like it was alive, like it had a fucking pulse."
Nash's hand hovered over the artifact, his expression carved from stone. "My ancestors," he began, voice tight, "they sealed this room off for a reason."
I snorted. "Great job they did. The damn place has less security than a liquor store."
"Keep your voice down," Nash snapped, his usual composure slipping. "This isn't a joke, Celeste. This room...it's dangerous."
"Tell me something I don't know," I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest. But beneath the bravado, a seed of fear took root—because if Nash was worried, then what the hell had I stumbled upon?
The silence between us was as thick as the dust coating the ancient tomes on the shelves. I could feel Nash's eyes boring into me, his gaze sharp enough to carve the secrets right out of my soul—if I let it.
"Is there something you're not saying?" I asked, watching him closely. The way he shifted his weight, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—it was like a damn neon sign that screamed 'I'm hiding shit'.
"Everything essential has been said," he replied, but there was a tightness to his words, a restraint that didn't sit right with me.
"Essential, huh?" I echoed, the word tasting like bullshit on my tongue. A smile twisted my lips—a bitter curl that didn't reach my eyes. "I'll remember that."
