Page 25 of Cursed
But how can I be calm when he’s admitted to watching me? When he threatened to hurt me for the sole purpose of hearing me scream?
A soft noise behind me sends me lurching forward again, my careful approach forgotten in an instant.
Run. Just run.
I slam into a solid wall, my hands reflexively shooting out to stop my momentum. Pain radiates through my palms, then my wrists as they connect with the unforgiving surface.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, frantically feeling along the wall for a hidden passage, a door, anything.
My fingers trace cold concrete—nothing but a dead end.
The realization floods my senses like being dragged under icy water, I have to go back—toward him. Fuck.
I spin around, my back pressed against the wall, staring into the corridor I fled. The darkness seems to pulse with menace. Somewhere in that darkness, Landon is hunting me.
My breath comes in short gasps. Think, Sadie. Think. The rational part of my brain—the part that solves complex coding problems and finds patterns in chaos—tries to assert authority over my panic.
There might be another branching corridor I missed in my blind flight. If I move slowly, carefully, I may find an alternate route. But what if there isn’t one? What if the only way out leads straight to him?
I strain my ears, listening for footsteps, breathing, any sign of his presence. The labyrinth is eerily silent except for the sound of my own thundering heart.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “Just calm down.”
I push away from the wall and take a tentative step back toward the corridor. Then another. My hand trails along the wall, searching for any junction I might have missed.
The darkness ahead seems to deepen with each step. Is he waiting there? Is he watching me, basking in my fear, savoring each painstakingly chosen step I take only to be led right into his trap?
I pause, frozen between the dead end behind me and the unknown ahead. Either way, I’m cornered. Either way, I’m playing into his hands.
The truth settles over me like a shroud: I have no choice but to go back.
I gather my courage and inch back down the corridor, my fingertips skimming the wall for guidance. Each step feels like walking through quicksand—my body resisting the direction my mind knows I have to go.
“Just keep moving,” I whisper to myself.
The corridor stretches before me, shadows pooling in corners and recesses. My eyes dart from one dark spot to another, expecting Landon to materialize at any moment. But nothingmoves. No footsteps echo against the walls. No breathing besides my own disrupts the silence.
I pause at a junction, peering down the path where I last heard him. Empty. The corridor extends into darkness, but there’s no sign of him. My brow furrows.
This doesn’t make sense. He was right behind me. I heard him. I felt his presence so intensely that I knew at any moment he would reach out and touch me ending the chase.
I take one more cautious step, then another. Where did he go? The Hunt is about being caught—why would he just disappear?
“Landon?” The moment the word leaves my mouth, I immediately clamp my hand over my mouth.
What am I doing?
I should be grateful for this reprieve, not questioning it.
The adrenaline flooding my system feeds my fear now. Is this part of his game? Making me think I’ve escaped, only to pounce when I least expect it?
I turn in a full circle, scanning each shadowy corner. The maze feels impossibly empty.
My heart rate slows as minutes pass without incident. I press forward, taking a different path than before, listening intently for any sound that might signal his presence.
Still, there’s nothing.
A new worry forms—what if he’s found another woman to hunt? The thought brings relief tangled with a darker feeling I don’t want to confess, even to myself.
