Chapter 3: Escape
1173 Words
The first thing she registered was the firelight.
Not the blinding kind that devoured everything—it flickered low, warm, and unfamiliar, casting restless shadows along wooden walls. They swayed like spirits, like something watching just beyond her reach.
The second thing was the scent.
Pine. Charcoal. Rain-soaked earth.
Not perfume. Not incense. Not the sterile rot of the mansion’s silver-dusted halls.
Cordelia blinked.
She was lying on a cot—rough wool blankets beneath her, a damp cloth pressed to her forehead. Her skin tingled. Her chest ached. Her ankle throbbed.
Her breath caught.
Where am I?
She bolted upright—and immediately regretted it.
Pain rippled through her ribs. Her vision swam. She swayed, and the world pitched sideways—
A hand steadied her.
She flinched violently, yanking away.
The man beside her didn’t react.
He stepped back without a word, retreating into the shadows like he’d been expecting her to wake like this.
He was tall. Broad. Silent. A hood pulled low, shadowing most of his face, save for a clean, angular jaw. His clothes were rough, utilitarian. A dark coat hung open at his sides, and his boots were damp with forest mud.
His hands—bare, calloused, ringless—rested at his sides.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t ask questions.
Didn’t offer comfort.
He simply watched her like she was a puzzle he had already solved.
Cordelia’s voice came out cracked. “Who—where am I?”
A pause.
“Safe,” he said at last. His voice was low and deliberate. Too calm.
She squinted. “You brought me here?”
He inclined his head once. Not quite a nod. Not quite denial.
“Why?”
Another pause. Longer.
No answer.
Cordelia braced her hands on the cot and swung her legs down. The floor was rough wood beneath her feet—splintered in places, scuffed by boots too large to be hers.
The cabin was small. One room. Window open to a foggy dusk. Hearth, table, single chair. A coat hook. An axe mounted above the door. No pictures. No books. No mess.
Yet nothing felt… abandoned.
There was no dust on the shelves. The fire still burned steady. The kettle beside it steamed. Two mugs sat on the table. Two bowls, scraped clean. A single red thread hung from a loose knot on the floor.
Cordelia’s heart gave a slow, warning thud.
Something was wrong here.
She turned back to the man. “You live here?”
“No.”
“But someone did.”
His jaw shifted. Almost imperceptibly.
Cordelia stepped carefully across the room, eyes on him. He didn’t move. Didn’t follow. Didn’t speak.
Her fingers trailed the back of the chair. A faint indentation—someone had sat here. Recently.
And on the wall beside the coat hook—three light scratches. Diagonal. Like fingernails. A mark of desperation, not accident.
Cordelia’s stomach twisted.
“Was someone else here when I arrived?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
That silence—that practiced stillness—was beginning to unnerve her more than any threat.
Something creaked beneath the floorboards.
They both froze.
It was not the natural moan of old wood.
It was a deliberate sound. Measured. Rhythmic.
Cordelia’s skin went cold.
She turned toward the hearth, scanning the floor. A subtle bump in the grain. A faint line, like a trapdoor seam hidden in the boards.
She turned to the man—still watching the floor with unblinking focus.
“Is someone under there?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped to the hearth and pulled something from behind it—a blade, longer than a dagger but not quite a sword. Its surface was matte black, and it drank the firelight like water. Not steel. Not silver. Something older.
He didn’t hand it to her.
He moved to the far corner of the room and knelt, fingers tracing the floor like he’d done it a hundred times.
Cordelia’s breath came shallow.
“What is that?” she whispered.
His voice was lower now. “Stay back.”
Another creak. Then another.
A pause.
Then—
Three knocks.
From beneath the floor.
Not loud. Not fast. But deliberate.
Cordelia took a step back.
Not human.
Not asking for entry.
She backed toward the cot, hands curling into fists.
“You said I was safe,” she said.
“You are,” he replied flatly, though his voice was no longer calm. It had changed—tightened. Like he wasn’t trying to comfort her anymore, but contain her fear.
Her gaze dropped to the floor again.
The boards beneath the chair had shifted slightly—just enough to show they’d been lifted, then carefully replaced.
She whispered, “Someone’s under there.”
“No,” he murmured. “Something.”
She froze.
Something shifted again, just below her left foot.
The floor breathed.
Cordelia stumbled back, pressing against the wall.
Then the knocking stopped.
The cabin fell into deep, unnatural silence.
Havoc—if that was even his name—lowered the blade.
But he didn’t relax.
He stood slowly, eyes never leaving the trapdoor.
Cordelia whispered, “What was it?”
He turned to face her fully.
For the first time, she saw his eyes—gray. Cold. Not lifeless… but locked. Like doors that had been bolted from the inside long ago.
“It used to be human,” he said.
Then—
Another sound.
Not from below.
From outside.
A thump. Wet. Followed by a dragging noise.
Cordelia gasped.
She looked to Havoc, but he was already at the door, blade in hand.
A voice rasped through the crack in the wood.
“…help…”
Havoc opened the door.
A man collapsed into the cabin.
Blood everywhere. Uniform torn. Black-and-silver stitching. Cordelia’s breath hitched—one of the Alpha’s guards.
He coughed violently, spitting blood on the floor, then looked straight at her.
“You…” he choked. “You don’t understand…”
Cordelia stumbled backward. Her throat closed.
The guard’s eyes were wide. Gold and flickering with something not entirely human.
“They changed the order,” he gasped. “You’re not meant to survive the bond break. They said…”
He clawed toward her. “You were never supposed to get this far.”
Then his body went still.
Cordelia froze.
Havoc crouched beside him, fingers pressed briefly to the guard’s neck.
Then, slowly, he stood.
And without looking at her, said:
“Stay away from the window.”
Cordelia stared at him.
“You’re going out there?” she asked.
His hand tightened around the blade.
“There are worse things than the guards,” he said.
Then he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
She was alone.
Or—she thought she was.
Then—
A whimper came from beneath the floorboards.
High-pitched.
Almost… human.
But not quite.
Cordelia’s breath caught.
The boards below the dead guard’s body shifted slightly.
Something was moving under him.
Scratching. Slowly. Softly.
As if reaching up.
- Writer
