Page 120 of The Devils They Are

Hopefully they know what they are doing. We're risking a lot by teaming up with her, and it's even more painstaking when I seem to have drawn the short end of the stick tonight.

Spencer bursts through the doors to the Cedar Heights auditorium. They bounce off the wall with a loud bang and I cringe. There's nothing fucking subtle about her. We should be approaching these people like predators—slowly, in silence. But no. She's charging around like a bull in a room full of red. Ironic really given what she's wearing.

Finally, she pauses, breathing heavily as she scans the room. The windows around the auditorium are all boarded up even though there's minimal damage in here. As we stop moving, I can't help but notice it's gone eerily quiet.

There are no sounds at all except our breathing, and it starts to alarm me. It very much feels like we've just walked into a trap. Whoever is here couldn't have vanished that easily, and it feels like eyes are upon us.

Spencer appears to sense the same, her body twisting to turn toward me. "Hunter," she whispers with a frown.

I'm not sure what she's asking of me, but I step over to her, our arms brushing. "They're here somewhere," I answer under my breath. "Where could they be?" It's a direct question to her, urging that brain to use her knowledge of the building. I may know the blueprints but that's the extent of my participation. Spencer will know things that I don't—places where people could hide.

Her eyes focus on mine through the dark, face hardening as she gives a nod. I stay close to her as she crosses the auditorium toward a side door. For a second, I think she's going to go through it, but she walks past to the stage, climbing a set of stairs. The blue curtains are open, nothing seemingly out of place, but she heads to some draped curtains lining the back wall.

Peeling them back, I'm intrigued to find there's a door behind the stage, hidden from sight.

There we go. Smart girl.

I give myself a little internal praise for directing her before I follow Spencer into another dark room. I realize it's not a room per se, but a corridor, leading to a multitude of dressing rooms. They don't look like they have been used in some time, even before the fire. Everything is covered with white sheets to protect from dust, and a stale smell lingers in the air.

Our footsteps echo as we walk slowly, scanning empty rooms and listening to sounds. When we reach the wall at the end of the corridor, Spencer turns around with a frown.

"Not here," she mutters in disbelief.

"Think," I tell her, stepping in closer. "Are we certain they came in this way?"

I see uncertainty cross her face, but she nods. "Yeah."

"What about that side room in the auditorium?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "It's just a prop cupboard. Practically the size of a shoebox."

"Maybe we should check it out anyway," I offer, reaching into my pocket.

Extracting my cell, I see the missed call notifications from Rylan and Tai. That seems to jog Spencer's memory too, lifting her own cell and temporarily blinding me with the torch.

"They are on their way," I say to her, reading a text from Tai. "We should head back to the entrance and wait for them."

"But there's still someone here," she replies, disappointed. Her face wrinkles and I see guilt plastered all over it, as if she's taking this personally.

Sighing, I reach out awkwardly, patting her shoulder like I'm consoling a wounded animal. "We've probably scared them off. Best we head back and wait for the others."

Spencer gazes at me, my breath hitching as her eyes shine at me in appreciation. It catches me off-guard, not used to seeing this side of her. I don't know how to feel about it—other than confused as fuck.

"Okay," she agrees, motioning with her head for me to follow as she treks back toward the stage.

We walk in silence, neither of us knowing what to say to the other. As we start to near the secret door, my body stiffens, and I take a whiff of the air. This whole building reeks of smoke and charred materials, but the auditorium was largely undamaged. The smell of smoke seems stronger now, puzzling me.

As we push through the curtains onto the stage, we quickly discover why.

Spencer stops abruptly and I crash into her, my hands instinctively gripping her shoulders to steady us both. Our eyes are glued ahead to the other side of the auditorium, horror filling me.

Smoke billows under the cracks of the door, flooding into the room at an alarming speed. But that's not the most concerning part. It's a draw—somewhere between the fact that we left the now-closed doors open, and the goddamn orange glow that illuminates through the gaps.

We rush forward in unison, standing on the edge of the stage. Before either of us can speak or process what we are witnessing, flames lick through the wooden doors, disintegrating them before our eyes.

"Shit," I hiss, grabbing Spencer's wrist.

She's tensed up, eyes blown wide. After a few seconds, she finally reacts, turning to look at me with speechless, unbridled panic.

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