Christina's POV
"Sure." I headed toward the small storage closet next to the stairwell. Because clearly I've been promoted from 'girl who can't reach high things' to 'tool runner'.
I swept the walls with my phone's flashlight, like something out of a ghost hunting show.
The storage closet was a monument to hoarding—boxes stacked precariously, tools scattered across shelves. I spotted the pliers on the top shelf, because of course they were.
I stretched, rising on my tiptoes and reaching for them, as if auditioning for "Swan Lake."
Just as I grabbed them, my foot rolled over some suspicious round object.I yelped, lost my balance, and flailed my arms like a human car dealership balloon in a storm.
The floor was covered with nails, sharp and numerous.The kind that would absolutely ruin
