Abandoned Room

Summer's pov

“Who are you?”

My bare feet moved soundlessly across the cold stone floor; each step hesitant but I was determined. The cloaked man didn’t speak, didn’t gesture, but the way he paused at the far corner of the corridor before continuing made it clear that he wanted me to follow. 

The chill in the air deepened as I trailed behind him. The house felt different and he continued to lead me deeper and deeper into the unfamiliar hallways that gave way to narrower passages.

“Where are you taking me?” I whispered, my voice barely audibles over the sound of my own breathing. 

He didn’t respond. 

The further we went, the more I felt like I was leaving the Lycan house behind entirely, stepping into a place that wasn’t meant to be found. My pulse raced as questions swirled in my mind, but I couldn’t stop. Something about the cloaked man drew me forward, despite the fear curling in my stomach. 

Finally, he stopped, his figure looming in front of an old, wooden door. He turned slightly, his hood shifting just enough for me to feel the weight of his gaze beneath the darkness. 

I froze, uncertainty gripping me as I stared at the door. It looked ancient, its wood weathered and its iron handle rusted. 

“What’s in there?” I asked, my voice trembling. 

For a moment, he stood still, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire. Then, slowly, he reached for the door, his gloved hand curling around the handle. 

I held my breath as he pushed it open, the hinges creaking loudly. 

My feet refused to move, a mix of fear and curiosity rooting me to the spot. He stepped through the doorway without hesitation, his figure disappearing into the shadows beyond. 

I hesitated, my heart hammering in my chest. 

But then he turned, his hooded head tilting slightly as if beckoning me to follow.

The cloaked figure moved silently, his steps purposeful, until he stopped by the corner of what looked like an old, dust-covered box. My breath hitched as I waited, unsure of what he would do next. 

He didn’t move, his stillness unnerving. For a moment, I thought he was about to say something. But when I blinked, he was gone. 

My head whipped around, scanning the room, but there was no sign of him. It was as if he had vanished into the shadows themselves. 

I exhaled shakily, my heart pounding in my chest as I finally stepped into the room. The air was colder here, heavy with dust and time. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the faint scent of decay lingered in the air. 

The dim light from a single, cracked bulb dangling from the ceiling revealed the state of the space. It looked like an abandoned basement, but it didn’t feel like one. 

It felt... personal. 

My gaze fell on a bed pushed against the far wall, its frame old and rusted, the mattress sagging and covered with tattered clothes and cobwebs. Someone had slept here once. Someone had lived here. 

A wardrobe stood nearby, its doors slightly ajar, revealing faded, moth-eaten fabric within. The room was eerily still, as though it had been frozen in time, untouched for years. 

But why was it here? And why so far from the rest of the house? 

I stepped closer to the bed, my fingers brushing against the dusty fabric. It felt wrong, like I was intruding on a secret I wasn’t meant to know. My mind raced with questions. Who had lived here? Why had they been hidden away in this forgotten corner of the Lycan house? 

The wardrobe creaked faintly as I moved past it, the sound making me jump. I turned sharply, half-expecting the cloaked figure to reappear. But the room remained empty, the silence oppressive. 

I swallowed hard, my thoughts swirling. This wasn’t just a basement. This was a room. A life. Someone’s past buried and forgotten beneath the grandeur of the house above. 

But whose? And why?

My feet carried me back to the box, its presence drawing me in despite the unease twisting in my gut. It looked heavy, its edges rusted and worn from years of neglect. Dust coated the surface, and as I crouched beside it, I hesitated. 

Something about this box felt important, like it held the key to understanding why this room existed. 

I gripped the lid, but it didn’t budge at first. The rusted hinges resisted as I tugged, and frustration bubbled within me. I planted my feet firmly, giving it another forceful pull, and with a groan of metal against metal, the lid creaked open. 

A cloud of dust billowed out, making me cough and wave my hand in front of my face. When the air cleared, I peered inside, my breath catching as I took in its contents. 

Photographs. 

Stacks of them, their edges frayed and yellowed with time, were scattered among neatly folded brown letters tied with a faded ribbon. I reached for the photos first, my fingers trembling as I picked one up. 

It was black and white, the image slightly blurred. A young woman stood in the frame, her features delicate and her eyes bright with a smile that seemed to light up the photograph. She looked familiar, though I couldn’t place her. 

Another photo showed the same woman, this time holding a small child in her arms. The child’s face was partially obscured, but there was something hauntingly beautiful about the image. 

Setting the photos aside, I turned my attention to the letters. The paper was brittle beneath my fingers as I carefully unfolded one. The handwriting was elegant but slightly faded, the ink smudged in places. 

I skimmed through the letter, catching fragments of words and phrases. It spoke of longing, of love, and of regret. But it was the last line that made my heart stop. 

"From Mother to my darling Athena."

Athena?

My fingers tightened on the paper, my mind racing as the name echoed in my thoughts.

Who was she? 

I glanced around the room again, the bed, the wardrobe, the cobwebs. Whoever this Athena was, she had to have been in this room.

But why had she been hidden away? And why had her belongings been abandoned like this? 

Questions swirled in my mind, each one heavier than the last, as I carefully folded the letter and placed it back in it inside my skirt pocket.

I tucked the letter into my skirt pocket, my fingers trembling as I straightened up. My heart was still pounding, my thoughts a whirlwind of questions about Athena and this forgotten room. 

A rustle came from behind the bed immediately drawing me out of my thoughts.

The sound came again, squeakier this time, and it was no doubt it was a mouse but my instincts screamed at me to leave. I spun on my heel, moving quickly.

I quickly set the box back aside and placed it back under the bed and moved quickly out of the door.

I wasn't supposed to be here, I didn't even know what part of the corner I'd turned but I had to get out of her.

I fled the room, my heart pounding as I stumbled into the dimly lit corridor. The air was colder now, as if the walls themselves were exhaling icy breaths. My mind raced, the name “Athena” echoing in my thoughts. Who was she? Why had she been hidden away? 

I turned left, then right, the twisting hallways unfamiliar and suffocating. Each step felt like I was venturing deeper into a labyrinth. The shadows stretched longer, darker, and my breaths quickened. 

“How do I get out of here?” I whispered to myself, frustration and fear clawing at my chest. 

I didn't even know how I stumbled into this place in the first place, the halls and corners were tall in front of me. My breathing raced as I turned through the corners of each hall. The Lycan home had a lot of secrets of every single corner, some that didn't concern me and others that did.

Whoever this Athena was I felt like she had a close connection with me but I didn't know how exactly and the only way to find out would be through Dominic alone.

My bare feet slapped against the stone floor; the sound muted by the weight of the questions swirling in my head. My surroundings blurred, my focus slipping between the memory of the photographs, the letter, and the eerie presence of the cloaked figure who had led me here. 

First the locket, my parents, the creatures and now the cloaked men were everything. It was as though they were luring me into something big.

I turned another corner, my mind too preoccupied to notice the figure approaching from the opposite direction. 

We collided, his tall frame towering over my petite ones.

The impact sent me reeling, and I stumbled back, gasping. “I’m so sorry, sir—” I blurted, my voice shaky. 

“Marcus,” the man interrupted, his voice cold and clipped. “The King’s right-hand man. Sir Marcus.