“Before we begin -” Svetlana says, then indicates with a nod of her head that I should look down at her hands. She - and all the other girls - have their left hands pressed down into the bed’s duvet, their right hands tightly clamped over to block the Promise Rings’ audio inputs.
My hands, on the other hand, are no longer clenched together to cover my ring - I forgot about that the moment I accidentally dislodged that hanging picture and gave away that I was eavesdropping on them.
But before I can cover up my Promise Ring, I’m startled by a strange whirling and squeaking sound from somewhere in the room - like two polished pieces of wood or metal sliding over one another. We all look up at the same spot in alarm. On the far wall opposite the huge four poster bed, a square panel in the wa
