Chapter 144: Company
Cecilia
The hallway stretched endlessly before us. My heart hammered so violently I could feel it pulsing in my throat, taste copper on my tongue from where I'd bitten the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
Don't run. Don't look back. Walk like you own this place.
Sophia's hand trembled in mine, her fingers ice-cold even through the silk gloves, and I squeezed back harder than I probably should have, needing that anchor as much as she did.
Behind us, I could feel Lord Rhys's gaze burning into my spine, could practically hear the calculations running through his mind as he decided whether to let us walk out or call his guards to drag us back.
We reached the main entrance hall—the same opulent space we'd entered through what felt like hours ago but had probably been less than thirty minutes.
"Miss Emmaline." A servant appeared from nowhere, his voice professionally neutral as he gestured toward a side corridor. "Your vehicle is waiting at the service entrance. If you'll follow me—"
"We know the way," I said, injecting Emmaline's cold authority into my voice even as my legs threatened to give out. "Thank you."
The servant stepped aside with a slight bow, and we moved past him toward the corridor he'd indicated.
The moment we rounded the corner and were out of sight of the main hall, I felt Sophia's composure crack. Her breathing went ragged, her steps faltering, and I had to practically drag her forward as we navigated the narrow hallway that led toward the back of the estate.
"Keep moving," I hissed, my own panic threatening to overwhelm me but knowing that if I let it, we were both dead. "Just a little further, Sophia. Just—"
We burst through a service door into cool night air that hit my face like a physical shock, and there—thank god, there—was Harold standing beside a black sedan with its engine already running, his posture tense and alert as he scanned the darkness around us.
Daniel was slumped in the back seat, still wearing that grotesque clown mask, his head lolling against the window in a way that made my stomach drop until I saw his chest rise and fall with breath.
"Get in," Harold said, his voice clipped and urgent as he yanked open the rear door. "Now."
I shoved Sophia toward the car, practically throwing her into the back seat beside Daniel before diving in after her. Harold was behind the wheel before I'd even closed the door, the sedan lurching forward with enough force to slam me back against the leather seats.
My hands shook so badly I could barely untie the silk ribbons holding the porcelain mask in place, my fingers fumbling with knots that suddenly felt impossible to undo. Sophia got hers off first, her face pale and streaked with tears she must have been holding back the entire time we were inside.
I finally managed to wrench mine free, the porcelain clattering to the floor of the car, and took my first full breath since we'd entered that library. The air tasted like freedom and terror in equal measure.
"Hurry up, Harold," I said, my voice coming out hoarse and shaky. "Lord Rhys is going to contact Heinrich Von Reichenbach, and when he finds out we're not his daughters—"
"No problem," Harold said, taking a turn fast enough that the tires squealed against pavement.
The sedan shot through the manor gates just as they started to swing closed, missing the heavy iron bars by inches. In the rearview mirror, I saw lights flare to life across the estate, saw figures running toward vehicles in the distance.
"Hold on," Harold said, and then we were flying down the narrow country road, the speedometer climbing past numbers.
Sophia was crying openly now, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she pressed her face against the window. Beside her, Daniel stirred, a low groan escaping from behind the clown mask that someone had strapped so tightly to his face it must have been cutting off circulation.
"Daniel," I said, reaching across Sophia to touch his shoulder. "Daniel, can you hear me? We're getting you out. You're safe."
His head turned toward my voice, and even through the mask I could see his eyes—bloodshot and unfocused but aware, tracking my movements with the kind of desperate hope that made my chest ache.
"Let me—" I fumbled with the straps holding the mask in place, my hands still trembling but steadier now that we were moving, now that every second put more distance between us and that nightmare house. The buckles were industrial-strength, designed to stay secure no matter how much the wearer struggled, and I had to use my teeth to work one particularly stubborn clasp free.
The mask finally came off, and I got my first real look at Daniel's face.
Jesus Christ.
His nose was definitely broken, swollen and purple with dried blood crusted around his nostrils. One eye was swollen nearly shut, ringed with bruises that were already turning that sickly yellow-green color. His lip was split in two places, the cuts held together with crude stitches that looked like they'd been done without anesthetic.
"Ceci," he managed, his voice rough and cracking. "I thought I was dead. I thought—"
"You're not dead," I said firmly, even though looking at him made me want to throw up. "You're alive, and we're getting you somewhere safe, and then we're going to make sure the people who did this to you pay for every second of it."
Behind us, headlights appeared in the distance—two sets, maybe three, moving fast and gaining ground despite Harold's aggressive driving.
"We've got company," Harold said, his voice tight with controlled tension as his eyes flicked between the road and the mirror. "Everyone hold on."