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Selene doesn't even look up. "Well, if you're so worried about getting in trouble, you better keep watch. I'm doing this regardless of your help."
The resolution in her tone and the set of her jaw tells me arguing would be pointless. With a frustrated groan, I move to the end of the hallway, positioning myself as a lookout. I pretend to be engrossed in a painting on the wall—a vague landscape that, under any other circumstances, wouldn't hold my attention for more than a second.
"How close are you, Selene?" I call out quietly; my voice tinged with both impatience and a growing curiosity about what she expects to find behind this forbidden door.
"I would be closer if I could concentrate," Selene mutters, her focus interrupted by my question. I can't help feeling like time stretches these moments into eternity, each second lingering longer than it should. I keep my composure as best I can, nodding politely at passersby who glance my way, their eyes curious or indifferent.
Finally, after a soft click and a triumphant whisper from Selene, we slip through the now unlocked door. The room beyond is clearly an office, dominated by an oversized desk that seems too large for the space. Laptops line the shelves, their indicator lights glowing a steady green, charged and ready for use. Books—a sea of hardbacks—fill the rest of the shelves, giving the room an air of stern academia.
As Selene begins to rifle through the desk, papers shuffle, and drawers slam, each sound sharply echoing in the otherwise silent room. I watch her, anxiety mounting with each careless motion.
"What are you looking for?" I ask, unable to mask the concern in my voice.
"I don’t know. Something. Anything," she replies, her voice a mix of frustration and desperation.
Her hands move quickly, too quickly. Papers are turned over, drawers are pulled out too far. Everything about her search is messy, chaotic. My heart races; the disorder of it all feels dangerous. This isn't the calculated risk of a seasoned schemer; this is the panic-driven search of someone grasping for a lifeline. The anxiety that had been simmering within me begins to boil over. The urge to flee, to escape the potential disaster we are spiraling toward almost consumes me.
But I stand frozen, watching Selene, knowing that despite my fears, leaving now could mean missing a crucial discovery—or worse, facing whatever consequences may come alone.
If Selene messes this up, it won't just be her who pays the price. I can feel the heavy responsibility weighing on me, the grim possibility that Ella might suffer for our recklessness. I plead with Selene, my voice barely a whisper, "We need to leave, now."
But she's motionless, fixated on something small and gleaming in her hand—a discovery that has captivated her completely. In a flash of sudden movement, a bookshelf to our side creaks open like a secret passage, but Selene, quick as a shadow, slips the mysterious item into the top of her dress for safekeeping.
Realizing the imminent danger, I rush over, slamming the swinging bookshelf shut with my body. There's a startled pause from the other side, then a forceful push against it. The bookshelf trembles under the impact, books tumbling down in a chaotic cascade.
"Get it closed!" I hiss to Selene, who shoves the heavy desk toward the bookshelves. Every inch she moves seems to take an eternity, and the urgency is suffocating.
"Shhhh. Don't let them hear your voice," she hisses back, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination.
"Hurry. Please," I urge Selene, desperation creeping into my voice as the pressure against the bookshelf intensifies.
"This is harder than it looks," Selene grunts, her face flushed with exertion as she heaves the desk inch by agonizing inch toward the bookshelf. Seeing an opportunity, I let go of the bookshelf and rush to her side, throwing my weight against the heavy furniture. It slides into place just in time, a makeshift barricade that barely holds as the unseen assailant on the other side continues to push, their frustration evident in the force of their efforts. The bookshelf creaks ominously, but it holds.
Without another word, we flee the room, our breaths ragged and hearts racing.
“What a rush!” Selene exclaims with a laugh as we merge with the flow of guests in the main room, her exhilaration a stark contrast against my pounding fear.
I grab Selene by the shoulder, spinning her around to face me. Her laughter fades as she sees the serious expression on my face.
"I don’t know what you were thinking, but that was reckless," I scold her, my voice low but intense.
Selene's smile falters, replaced by a nonchalant shrug. "Relax. If they find out it was me, I’ll take the fall."
Her cavalier attitude stokes my frustration. "It won’t just be you," I snap back. "You may want to throw your life away, but some of us have something to fight for. Don’t get me involved in your schemes without letting me be a part of the planning process."
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have considered your situation,” Selene concedes, her tone genuine, but it does little to quell the storm of emotions swirling within me.
As I scan the room, I notice staff members whispering and darting their eyes around, a clear sign they know something's amiss. A knot of fear tightens in my stomach. Every carefully calculated move I've made to protect my sister could unravel because of Selene's impulsive foray behind a locked door. The fact that Selene came prepared with hairpins and lock-picking skills gnaws at me—this wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment decision.
The room’s lights dim, pulling my thoughts back to the present. Diarmuid makes his way through the crowd, leaving his brothers behind. He takes Selene’s arm and mine, drawing us close as we join the gathering at the front of the room. His presence, solid and reassuring, makes me feel slightly safer. If our misadventure comes to light, I find a shred of hope in believing Diarmuid might protect us.
A deep, resonant gong sounds once, then again, and once more, echoing through the grand room. Hooded figures begin to assemble, creating a sense of foreboding. Lorcan, Diarmuid’s oldest brother, strides toward the stage with an air of authority. Then, as if on cue, the wall shifts and opens.
Out steps Victor, The Hand himself.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. Victor's arrival means that whatever is happening here is more significant and perhaps more dangerous than any of us anticipated. As he takes the stage, the atmosphere thickens with anticipation and unease. I grip Diarmuid’s arm a little tighter, trying to steady myself against the surge of fear and the weight of what might come next. This night, it seems, is far from over, and the stakes are higher than ever.
CHAPTER TEN
