Chapter 16

" W ho, dear?" Madeline asks, her green eyes wide and clouded with emotion.

I swallow thickly, my gaze darting between the three of them as my heart races in my chest. I press a hand to it, willing it to slow down, but it won't, it can't, and I…

I can't breathe.

"Ella," Daniel soothes, his hand squeezing mine. "Calm down. Breathe for me." He wraps his fingers around my jaw, my chin quivering in his grasp, and makes me face him. His face is so soft, so kind, and I want to pull away, but I can't. He leans in and murmurs, "Is who dead ? "

I pause for one second, two, then jerk away, my teeth gnashing together. "Like you don't know!"

Fuck, I'm losing it.

I don't mean to spit the words, but I do. He jerks back like I've slapped him. "What are you talking about?"

No, now I've lost it.

I jolt to my feet and shove away from them, their prying eyes, their worried gazes. It's all lies. All of it. How could they do this to me? Daniel and Evelyn, the only family I've remembered for the last ten-plus years, and Madeline, my real family. My flesh and blood. My mother.

I run a hand through my fucked up curls, my fingers catching in knots. The weight of my jewelry is heavy against my throat, my ears. My fingers wrap around the necklace from Gage, and my eyes burn.

"You killed them," I breathe, the words like acid on my tongue. I take another step back, my head shaking. I clench the diamonds. "You were there. You killed them."

Gone.

They're gone.

I think I might be sick, or pass out, or fuck, both.

My eyes fly around the room, looking, searching, for a place to vomit as bile continues to fill my mouth. My stomach swirls.

Dead.

I take another step back, and Madeline pushes to her feet as Robert takes a step toward me. Then Daniel is standing.

"Don't come any closer!" I rasp, feeling like a trapped animal.

My bare foot catches on my long dress, and I stumble, my hand darting out into thin air as if to grab something, but all I see is blood. Dried, reddish-brown blood. Hunter's blood.

Oh my God.

Hunter's dead. He died in my arms. Oh my God.

The words repeat through my head again and again.

I'm seconds from puking all over Madeline's floor when the door swings open, and Evelyn saunters through, a tray full of food and drinks in her hands. Her eyes meet mine, and they quickly shift from soft to worried.

"What happ—"

But it's too late.

My heart pounds in my chest. I'm on the verge of losing control. The weight of the moment is crushing me, and I can't breathe. The urge to vomit rises. I'm trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. I can't stay here, not for another second.

In a blind panic, I bolt from Madeline's office, my feet barely registering the sensation of the shiny industrial floors beneath me. I don't know where I am, and I don't know where to go, but I need a bathroom, a sink, or fuck, even a potted plant—anything to get away from this suffocating tension.

Away from the eyes. The sympathy. The questions.

The lies.

Frantic and disoriented, I slide on bare feet as I turn a corner and find myself in a massive concrete hallway. The dimly lit space stretches out before me, doors sporadically scattered along its length. The hall is bustling with people, all dressed in black, their ages and appearances varying widely. My body shakes as I take in the surreal scene.

This place feels like something out of a spy movie, reminiscent of the underground bunker from one of my favorite shows, "Agents of Shield." It's high-tech and impressive, with bewildering complexity that leaves me feeling both awed and utterly confused.

The air is cool but not cold. The lights are dim but not dark, casting long shadows along the walls. The hum of machinery fills the air.

People move purposefully, engrossed in their tasks. I feel like an intruder stumbling into a secret world. I stumble backward, and my spine hits a wall. My head jerks backward, finding a door labeled Library behind me.

Swallowing thickly, I look to my left, then my right, finding an entire hall full of similar doors, all labeled.

Someone shoots me a smile, but it drops a second later. He steps forward, and I flinch. He looks alarmed, and try as I might, I can't get myself together to reassure him. What would I even say? I'm the one that doesn't belong. I'm the one who doesn't even know where she is. I'm the one crying, covered in blood in an evening dress, trying not to puke my fucking brains out.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. "Do you need help?" He looks all over, his body tensing as if I might be in danger.

My eyes dart over his frame. He's a little taller than me and maybe around the same age. His hair is blonde and curly, his skin pale. I idly trace the freckles covering his nose before my gaze snaps to his soft brown eyes. The man is wearing a black polo with an emblem I can't decipher across a pocket filled with pens. Below is a pair of nice dark slacks and shiny leather shoes.

He looks…

Fuck, he looks nice .

So nice that my shoulders drop, and I sink into the door.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't to meet someone my age that makes me want to ask for a hug.

"Miss?" he prompts, taking a step closer. My heart picks up again, and my head shakes against my will, my fingers digging into my thighs. His throat bobs, and he freezes. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you." He spears his hand through his hair. "My name is Oliver. What's yours?"

"E-El-" I grit my teeth against the stammering. "Ella."

He nods slowly. "Okay, Ella." His eyes scan me before pausing on my bloody hands. "Are you hurt?" I shake my head. "Is someone else hurt?"

I let out a keening sound that I can't hold back, and Oliver jolts. Nausea returns full force as I think about Hunter's last breaths in my arms. I slap a hand over my mouth, then choke on a sob when I see his blood all over again.

"Bath–room," I barely grit out between clenched teeth.

His eyes gape. " Fuck. " Then, his hand is wrapping around mine. I squeal a pathetic sound that I'll regret later, but before I can say anything, we're moving. He tugs me along, his feet moving swiftly, and looks at me over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but you look lost, and this place is a goddamned maze."

"Okay," I rasp before cupping my mouth again.

He picks up pace with a curse. "Please don't vomit on my back." He gags as he takes a sharp right. "I'm a sympathetic puker."

"Okay," I repeat, the sound muffled. As we run through the slippery halls, I keep one hand over my mouth, the other bunched in my long dress, and take in the building.

I want to ask questions, and something tells me Oliver will give me the answers, but I can barely think past keeping my stomach contents intact, let alone how to ask what I need to without getting sent back to that fucking office.

The underground bunker stretches before me with its long, unadorned halls, a labyrinth of metallic corridors that seem to extend into infinity. There's an eerie vibe to the surroundings, devoid of any decor or personal touches, as if function and secrecy take precedence over comfort.

Yellow lines are painted onto the cold, unfeeling grey walls, their bright hue providing the only hint of color in this otherwise monochromatic landscape.

The floors beneath my hurried footsteps gleam with a reflective sheen, an unforgiving surface that echoes with each footfall. It's as if the entire building is polished to perfection, adding an unsettling, almost clinical quality to the atmosphere. The cold, impersonal air sends shivers coursing through my body as I run, my breath whooshing between my fingers.

The hallways seem to stretch on endlessly, making it all too easy to lose one's way in this intricate maze, and I idly wonder if that's on purpose. Everything about Madeline seems to radiate secrecy, my life being the prime example.

"How much lo—"

"Right here!" He grunts, his feet freezing so quickly my front collides with his back. Oliver grunts and practically boot-kicks a door open before unconsciously shoving me through.

I stumble, shooting him a glare over my shoulder, but his hand is slapped over his eyes, and his throat is bobbing restlessly.

"Alrighty," he chokes out, saluting me with his free hand. "Catch ya' around, Ella!"

I nearly chuckle at his awkwardness, but as he releases the door, his foot falls back to the ground, panic claws at me all over.

"Wait!" I practically scream, wincing when my voice bounces off the walls.

He smashes the door open again, and this time, I do giggle. "What?" He shouts. "Are you okay?"

My eyes dart to the sink, the toilet, the single stall. I bob my head even though he can't see me. "Don't leave," I murmur, swallowing another ball of emotions. "Please."

He holds the door open with the toe of his shiny shoe and rubs the back of his head, his other hand still covering his eyes. "Look, Ella, you seem to have the whole damsel in distress thing going for you, but I don't do vomit." He gags and clears his throat. "I can't be the guy to hold your hair back for you."

An unexpected laugh bubbles up, and I rub my chest in surprise.

"Was that the prequel to your Linda Blair moment?" he grunts. I laugh again, and this time, it comes out as a sob. "Aww, shit."

"No," I quickly say when he moves to step toward me. "It's okay. I just meant…" I pause, trying to get my emotions under control. "I just meant, can you stay outside until I'm done? I don't know where I'm going."

I swear, the sigh he releases is so long and so loud it's like he's audibly deflating. "Yeah, of course. No problem." His thumb hikes over his shoulder as he steps back. "I'll just, uh, wait out here. Take your time. No rush." He takes another step back. "You do your thing, and I'll catch ya' on the flip—" The door slams shut, cutting off his words, and just like that, I crumble to the floor.