Page 57 of Haunted

And it turns out a lot of people have vendettas against her father. Either that, or Ryder and Liam decided to join in for fun. The irony is sweet. Mayor Pike’s crusade against Ravenwood’s criminals delivered his own child straight into criminal hands.

On the adjacent feed, Mira crashes through the maze. Both women race toward their fates, each believing she’s the one in control, each certain she can outsmart predators who’ve set their eyes on them.

Cora stumbles, and Liam’s there to steady her with false gallantry. The gesture appears protective and caring.

I switch back to my own feeds as footsteps echo from the middle corridor.

Mira’s arrival is imminent.

I pocket the tablet and step into position, every muscle coiled with anticipation.

The footsteps stop outside the entrance, and I watch through the one-way glass as Mira’s silhouette appears in the doorway. Her chest rises and falls with rapidbreaths, sweat glistening on her skin under the maze’s lighting.

She steps into the chamber, her bare feet silent on the wet tiles surrounding the pool. The colored lights beneath the water cast shifting patterns across her face as she takes in the scene—the dark water stretching forty feet to the opposite shore, the only visible exit glowing beyond the far end.

Her brow furrows, those sharp eyes I’ve come to know so well scanning for alternatives. She turns left, then right, searching the walls for another way through. Finding none, she backs toward the entrance.

Smart girl. Too smart for her own good.

I watch her retreat, letting her almost reach the threshold before my finger finds the control button. The door slams shut with a resounding clang that echoes through the chamber. The magnetic locks engage with a definitive click.

Mira spins away from the pool, her hands pressed against the sealed door behind her. She pushes against it uselessly, her palms flat against the cold metal.

“No, no, no,” she whispers, the words carrying clearly in the acoustics I designed specifically for this moment.

She turns to face the water again, understanding dawning. The pool stretches before her like a liquid barrier, its surface deceptively calm. She can’t see the depths, can’t know what waits beneath.

Her shoulders square with that stubborn determination I’ve learned to anticipate. She approaches the edgecautiously, crouching to test the water temperature with her fingertips.

I watch her through the one-way glass as she tests the water with her fingertips, those intelligent eyes calculating distance and depth. Forty feet across.

What she doesn’t know is that I’ve been watching her for weeks, learning her habits. The gym membership she never used. The swimming pool in her apartment complex remains untouched. Mira Sullivan may be clever, but she’s not athletic.

She stands at the edge, the red silk clinging to her curves like a second skin. The colored lights beneath the surface dance across her face in hypnotic patterns, blues and greens swirling in the darkness below. Beautiful and inviting, exactly as intended.

Her breathing quickens as she realizes this is her only option. Behind her, the steel door remains sealed. The walls offer no handholds and no alternate routes.

She takes a tentative step into the shallow end, gasping as the warm water laps at her ankles. The oils I’ve infused into the system create an almost silky texture against her skin, designed to heighten every sensation. Her body responds immediately, pupils dilating slightly from the chemical mixture.

Another step. The water reaches her calves now. She moves forward with increasing confidence, unaware that each movement sends signals to the sensors beneath the surface.

Halfway across the shallow section, she pauses.Something catches her attention—a shimmer in the water. She crouches, peering down into the depths.

The first restraint rises silently from the pool floor, a metal chain threading through the water like a serpent. It moves slowly, purposefully, staying below her line of sight.

Mira straightens and continues, reaching the point where the bottom drops away into the deep section. She hesitates at the edge, gathering courage for what she believes will be a simple swim to safety.

The chain coils beneath her feet, waiting.

She dives forward with determination, her body cutting through the surface in a graceful arc. The red silk billows around her as she begins to stroke toward the far side, forty feet of dark water between her and her believed freedom.

The sensors detect her movement pattern immediately. Swimming. Strong strokes. Target acquired.

More chains begin their ascent from the depths, converging on her position.

I press the activation sequence on my tablet, and the chains respond as if they were extensions of my will.

The first restraints emerge from the depths with silent precision, titanium links gliding through the water like metallic serpents. Mira’s powerful strokes carry her to the pool’s center, exactly where I need her.

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