Close. Too close.
Panic seizes me.
I whip my head around, scanning the courtyard for an escape, for anything that could shield me. My eyes land on a small wooden door embedded in the wall to my left. A storage closet, maybe. It doesn’t matter. It’s my only option.
I move before I can second-guess myself, slipping inside and easing the door shut behind me. The space is tight, shelves of gardening tools and cleaning supplies pressing in around me, the air thick with the scent of dust and metal. I press my back against the wall, forcing my breaths to slow, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound.
The footsteps grow louder.
They stop right outside the door.
My pulse roars in my ears.
Seconds stretch into eternity. The only sound is the faint hum of the wind outside, rustling through the hedges. My fingers dig into the wooden shelf beside me, my nails pressing deep into the grain.
If they open the door?—
A hand grips the handle.
I stop breathing.
My entire body locks up, my breath freezing in my throat. The scent of dust and metal is sharp in my nose. My fingers dig into the wooden shelf behind me, the edges biting into my skin, grounding me in place.
The handle shifts slightly. A slow, deliberate movement.
I squeeze my eyes shut, silently begging for the door to remain closed, for whoever is out there to keep moving.
Seconds stretch like an eternity.
Then—
The hand releases the handle.
The footsteps move away.
I stay frozen, listening. One step. Two. Then a pause.
A door creaks open somewhere nearby, followed by the muffled shuffle of movement inside another room. The door closes again with a soft thud.
I wait until the only sound is my own ragged breathing and the distant murmur of the wind against the estate walls.
My limbs feel stiff, tight with adrenaline, but I force them to obey as I inch toward the door, pressing my ear against it. Silence.
I count to ten.
Then, carefully, I push the door open, slipping back into the dimly lit courtyard.
The sky is beginning to lighten—faint streaks of gray cutting through the deep blue, warning me that dawn is not far away. I have minutes, at best.
I press forward, keeping to the shadows, my breath shallow, my footsteps light. Every sound feels amplified, every shift in the air a potential threat. I glance around, scanning for movement. The guards near the main entrance haven’t moved, their focus still trained on the front gates.
The back exit is just ahead.
I reach the heavy door, my hands trembling as I grasp the cold metal handle. Gently, carefully, I pull.
The door eases open with a whisper of sound.
Cool air hits my face, and for a moment, I just stand there, letting it wash over me, letting myself believe—just for a second—that I’ve made it.
