CHAPTER 28 ROHAN

Chapter 28

ROHAN

R ohan put the odds at fifty-nine percent that Grayson Hawthorne's inclusion in this game had been a recent decision, a last-minute change. There were, after all, only seven player rooms. It would have been difficult but not impossible for Grayson's brothers to have had new keys to those rooms made to incorporate the number eight, once they'd seen what Rohan had.

Grayson Hawthorne and Lyra Kane. Hadn't Nash told Rohan that this game had heart ?

"The eighth player is your brother." Rohan addressed Savannah, who was coolly examining the array of objects they'd just uncovered. "He has the advantage."

This was a Hawthorne game.

"Half brother." Savannah was the picture of calm—and a portrait of unimpressed. "And he only has the advantage until we take it back." Savannah nodded imperiously toward the objects. "Make yourself useful, British."

A locked room. A partner who didn't believe in wanting things, their goals aligned until dawn. Rohan could work with that.

He allowed his gaze to travel to the chain around Savannah's hips and the lock that hung on it. "Do you think that's served its one and only purpose?" Rohan asked. "A hint that we would be playing on teams?"

"You'd like me to believe it has no further value." Savannah gave a delicate arch of her brow. "Trying to get me to take it off?"

Take it off. Rohan had a certain appreciation for that turn of phrase, and he didn't doubt her usage of it was intentional. For all her ironclad control, Savannah Grayson apparently wasn't above playing with him .

"Wouldn't dream of it, love," Rohan told her.

He eyed the items they'd been given to work with for the first puzzle, then he reached into his tuxedo jacket and produced an object of his own. The metal disk.

Savannah's hand snaked out.

Rohan side-stepped. In the light, the markings etched into the metal were clear—broken lines, all around the edges of the disk on both sides, front and back.

"Was it worth it?" Savannah said. "Beating me to that, now that we're a team ?" The slight edge of sarcasm in the way she said the word team did not go unnoticed.

"It's always worth it." Rohan looked to the dried blood on his knuckles. "If I second-guess one sacrifice, suddenly, there might be lines I'm not willing to cross."

Rohan didn't give her a chance to reply as he made his way to the dining room table and bent down, his eyes even with its surface. He placed the disk vertically on the table, holding the circular piece of metal between his middle finger and his thumb.

"What are you doing?" Savannah said, less question than demand.

Rohan snapped his fingers, spinning the disk. Savannah planted her hands on the table and lowered her upper body to Rohan's level, taking in the head-on view of the rapidly spinning disk. The markings on the front side blurred with the markings on the back. Broken lines became whole. Incomprehensible symbols became letters.

" Use the room ," Savannah read out loud.

Rohan waited until the disk fell to its side, rattling against the dining room table. "Use the room," he echoed. "Tell me, Savannah Grayson…" He pitched his voice to surround her, a trick he'd picked up as Factotum of the Devil's Mercy, an occupation in which it was useful to project the idea that you were everywhere . "What do you see?"

Savannah didn't immediately respond, and Rohan turned his own discerning gaze to their surroundings. What he saw was this: a round dining room table with six chairs. The seats of the chairs were covered in a velvety fabric that matched two sets of heavy, golden drapes on the south wall. The drapes were closed. Positioned between them on the wall was a bar cart. Antique. The east wall held a silver hutch, likely also an antique. It was tall and wide but not more than a foot deep. The doors were wide open, the shelves empty.

The detailing on those cabinet doors matched the design inlaid into the table's top, a complicated swirl of flowers and vines. The center of the round table was raised, forming a smaller circle. The design on the raised circle's surface was striking.

"A compass." Savannah walked toward the table.

What do you see? He'd asked, and she'd provided only one answer. The answer, as far as she was concerned. Savannah placed a hand on the raised part of the table. Closing her fingers around the edge of the wheel, she turned it.

The center of the table spun. It made a complete rotation before Rohan caught Savannah's wrist, his touch feather-light. "Careful, love. What if it turns out we're meant to enter some sort of combination using that ‘compass'?"

Savannah turned her head slowly toward him, her eyes even with his, her lips even with his. "Do you intend to keep that appendage?"

"My apologies." In one liquid movement, Rohan left her and crossed to the curtains on the front wall. Pulling the first set revealed no windows, just a painting on the wall where a window should have been.

"A mural." Savannah crossed the room and pulled the second set of curtains. "And another one here."

One of sunrise, one of sunset. Rohan pushed on, the rest of the world melting away as he executed a visual search of the room, scanning every inch of it, looking for—

That. Rohan's gaze landed on the bar cart between the windows. Sitting on top of it were three crystal decanters, each holding liquid of a different color. But Rohan had eyes only for the fourth bottle. It was the simplest, boxy in shape, made of plain glass. The liquid inside was a very distinct shade.

Sunrise orange. Rohan reached for it, and this time, Savannah caught his wrist.

"I assume that you are also attached to your appendages," Rohan quipped. Her thumb was on his pulse. He could feel her feel it.

The body never lies.

Savannah dropped her grip, allowing Rohan to lift the bottle in front of his face. The colored liquid served as a lens, filtering out light waves of the same frequency—and illuminating the writing hidden in the sunrise mural.

Rohan smiled—not a roguish smile but one that was sharp-edged, wolfish. His real smile.

He handed Savannah the bottle, and she read the hidden message for herself.

TO SOLVE THE PUZZLE, FOCUS ON THE WORDS.