Page 56 of Fight or Flight
“Well, that’s one way to get our attention,” Jace says dryly as the giant chandelier lights up, the bulbs flickering like candles in the dim room.
“What the hell is going on?” Killian asks, his eyes cutting around the space like he’s searching out a threat.
“Theater,” Jax says calmly.
“Theater?” Killian asks dubiously.
“Yep,” Jace says, his tone as calm as his brother’s. “Check your phone.”
Killian and I both pull out our phones, but my screen stays dark when I tap on the Home key to wake it up.
“What the fuck?” Killian says before I can.
“I can’t be sure without ripping the walls open, but I’m guessing this room is basically a giant Faraday cage,” Jace explains. “Notice how the air feels different? Colder and almost stale?”
Killian and I both nod.
“Again, I can’t be sure without seeing the house plans or tearing the walls open, but I think this was originally a panicroom that they upgraded to an EMF-resistant one as the tech became available.” He glances around, his eyes sharp and calculating. “They prettied it up with a fancy chandelier and wallpaper, but this is a dead room.”
“A dead room?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Dead like nothing comes in or out of it once it’s locked down,” he says. “Notice how there are no vents or grates in here? No cracks or openings anywhere? Even the lights are hidden now?”
I look around. He’s right. The room is completely sealed. The openings where the pot lights were are now covered, making the ceiling as flat and smooth as the rest of the room, and there are no grates or vents or cracks anywhere that I can see.
“That tells us the room isn’t connected to any sort of ventilation system, which is why the air feels stale. And if I’m right, that means there’s also a finite amount of usable air in here. It’s cold because we’re probably underground, and that wall”—he points to the door—“is most likely the only point of contact with the rest of the building.”
“But why?” Killian asks. “What’s the purpose of making us wait in here?”
“Do you think it’s like a challenge or something?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Like an escape room?”
“Could be,” Jax says as he walks over to the wall across from the door. “Or maybe it’s a test to see if we can lock them out,” he adds thoughtfully and runs one finger down a strip of wallpaper.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It’s standard for panic rooms to have an internal locking system, and one that disables the external locks,” Jace explains, and the lack of any mocking or condescension in his voice is as unnerving as being trapped in a tiny room with no ability to contact the outside world. “That way, the only people who decide if and when they want to leave are the ones inside it.”
“Yeah, butwhy?” Killian asks. “Why bother with any of this?”
“They could be testing our ability to work together,” Jace says as he kneels next to where Jax is still studying the wall. “Or this could be an initiation thing that has no real meaning beyond it being tradition.”
“Or they could be fucking with us,” Jax says absently.
“Or maybe we’re reading too much into it and we’re just supposed to wait until they get here?” I say.
“Could be,” Jace tosses me a quick look over his shoulder. “But I find it a good policy to never allow myself to be trapped. So if there’s a way out, I’m going to find it.”
“And if finding the way out is the opposite of what we’re supposed to be doing and we get in trouble for it?” I ask.
“Then I’ll take your lashes for you.” He gives me a grin that’s full of heat but somehow looks completely innocent. “I do like it rough, after all.”
Thank fuck the room is so dark, because my cheeks and neck heat with a blush that’s probably a vivid shade of tomato red. Jace, of course, notices, and his only response is a covert wink that does nothing to help my situation.
Jax makes a thoughtful sound, like a low hum, pulling Jace’s attention from me. “What are you thinking?” he asks his brother.
“Do you see this?” Jax skims his fingertip over a strip of wallpaper that’s about three inches long.
Jace stands and peers at the wall. “Well, fuck me sideways.” He gently traces his finger over the spot. “Good eye, bro.”
