Page 104 of Buried in Blood
But my whole body goes still.
“Seventy.”
“Eighty.”
“Eighty-five.”
It’s gaining speed now—no longer crawling, now climbing.
“Ninety.”
“Ninety-five.”
“One hundred,” the same unfamiliar voice cuts through the noise. It’s not loud, nor is it demanding. It’s poised. Certain.
I lean into Reese, who’s standing behind us like a statue. “That voice,” I mutter. “Find it.”
He gives the slightest nod, then disappears into the shadows behind the booth.
“One fifteen,” the mystery voice says again.
This time, the room reacts. Brows lift. Heads turn.
Even the host seems startled. “We have one fifteen.”
No one counters. Someone near the back clears their throat.
The auctioneer waits.
And waits.
Then, slowly, “One twenty.”
A pause.
“One twenty-five.”
No response.
“One thirty.”
Nothing.
The host glances down at his clipboard, probably wondering if someone missed a signal.
Then it comes.
“One fifty-five.”
The entire room falls silent.
That voice again.
Same tone. Same calm.
Same faceless source.
The host’s lips part like he’s about to say something, then close again. He looks around the room, then quickly regains composure.
