Chapter 62 CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Scarlett’s POV
I thought I wasn't claustrophobic, but there was a specific way a confined space could crawl under your skin once you were actually inside it. I had only slid a few meters into the shaft before I felt the cold, galvanized steel walls closing in on me. The air was stale and tasted like dust. My heart started to hammer against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that made my chest feel too tight for my lungs.
This was scary. It was a bad place to pass out, and an even worse place to have a panic attack. For a second, I considered sliding backward, pushing myself out of the dark and back into the bleach-scented safety of the broom closet. But then, I imagined the look on Blue’s face. He wouldn't be angry; he’d just give me that look—the one that said it’s okay if you can’t do it—and that was somehow worse.
I couldn't always be the girl who needed to be babied. I recalled how petrified I’d been when Mr. Linden showed up at Bellamy. This mission was a part of the "Escape Mr. Linden’s Clutches" project. If I couldn't handle something as simple as this, I was done for. I squared my shoulders as much as the narrow space allowed, took a long, shaky breath, and kept moving.
Since the vent was too low for me to get on my hands and knees, I had to shuffle on my belly, using my elbows and toes to propel myself forward. Every movement echoed, a dull thump-scrape that sounded pretty loud in the enclosed space. I paused at the first junction, closing my eyes to reimagine the map.
Left at the intake, straight past the laundry chute.
I took the turn that I knew led toward the dining hall. As I moved, the faint sound of voices and the clatter of trays filtered up through the grates. Hearing the normal, everyday sounds of the students made me feel more comfortable.
I reached the next junction. My memory didn't fail me. I took another turn, navigating the maze with a growing sense of confidence. Eventually, I reached a stretch of ductwork that I knew led toward the principal’s quarters. I hadn't studied this section of the map yet, and Blue had specifically told me to stay in the residential areas. But the curiosity was a physical itch. If I just tracked my path and traced it back, I wouldn't get lost.
And technically, the principal's office wasn't the administrative wing, right? It was a gray area. I wanted to see if I could find anything useful, something that could give Blue an edge.
I took the path. Before long, the straight lines of the residential vents gave way to a more complex series of intersections. I hesitated, realizing I was getting confused about which way was North. Then, a voice drifted up through a nearby grate. It was greasy, patronizing, and instantly recognizable.
Mr. Miller.
I’d always suspected there was something between him and Mr. Linden. It was the only logical explanation for how Mr. Linden had so much influence within the walls of Bellamy. I shuffled closer, moving with agonizing slowness to avoid making a sound. I pressed my ear near the edge of the grate, straining to hear.
"Scarlett Rowe," Miller said.
I froze. My pulse spiked so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Why was he saying my name? I pressed closer to the metal, determined to catch every word. A second voice emerged, slightly distorted, coming from a phone on speaker.
"She is a disposable variable," the second voice said. It was deep and cold. "My son is not."
The other person must be Victor Linden.
"Of course," Miller replied smoothly. "So, what is your plan?"
"Nothing," Mr. Linden said. "I will just watch their folly for now. If it gets too serious, I will give you the go-ahead to report her for grave misconduct. That should give her some years in an actual prison. It should remove the distraction permanently."
I felt the blood drain from my face. To stifle the gasp that wanted to rip out of my throat, I slammed my palms over my mouth. But the sudden, hurried movement was too much. My weight shifted, and the grate beneath me creaked, sliding a fraction of an inch.
The voices below stopped instantly.
Shit.
I didn't wait to see if they’d heard me. I scrambled backward, my elbows raw as I retreated as fast as I could. I had just rounded the first corner when I heard the sound of a heavy vent cover being shoved aside. Then, a distinct clink echoed through the metal, the sound of a canister being thrown into the ductwork.
A thick, pungent smell began to waft through the vent. It was sharp and chemical, the kind of concentrated repellent used to flush out rodents and small animals. It wasn't lethal to humans, but in a confined space, it was agonizing.
I started to panic. My eyes began to water, blurring my vision, and my throat felt like it was being scraped with sandpaper.
I am going to die here, I thought, the walls suddenly feeling miles closer than they had before.
It was Mr. Linden. He was really going to take away years of my life, throw me into a real prison, just because he didn't want me near Blue. It was so cruel. I panted heavily, trying to cover my nose with the collar of my shirt, but the air was getting thinner. My skin was starting to itch, a stinging sensation spreading across my arms.
I found the residential path by sheer luck and started crawling with desperate strength. My vision was tunneling, dark spots dancing at the edges of my sight. I was in total distress, my lungs burning with every shallow breath.
Finally, I saw the entry point. The light from the broom closet looked like a beacon. I didn't care about being quiet anymore. I kicked and shoved my way toward the opening. I reached the edge and slid out, not even caring that I was several feet above the floor.
I was hyperventilating, my chest heaving as I tumbled through the air. But I didn't hit the hard floor. Strong, steady arms caught me mid-descent, pulling me against a solid chest. I only caught a brief glimpse of familiar tattooed arms and the scent of expensive perfume before the world finally went black.