Chapter Two: The Locked Furnace
The path from ballroom to service garage felt like stepping through dimensions, the music fading, replaced by the oppressive breath of summer pressing in as we descended, Elena silent beside me, her small hand clamped tightly around mine.
“I didn’t mean to be bad,” she said finally. “I just felt funny inside.”
“I know,” I said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The black Range Rover sat in the corner bay, freshly polished, its windows dark and impenetrable.
“Wait here,” I told her, opening the rear door. “I’ll grab you a clean dress and we’ll sneak snacks. Five minutes.”
She nodded, forcing a brave smile.
I closed the door.
I ran upstairs, heart pounding, retrieved clothes, returned in under seven minutes.
The garage door was locked.
