Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Fuck.
The year on the diploma. 1-9-7-2.
Beep. Red light. A longer tone warning.
Jack’s palms slicked as he breathed heavily. How many attempts before it locked him out? He wiped his hands on his trousers and blinked to clear the sweat from his eyes.
Rusty smears blurred the buttons on the safe.
The house number. 4-5-4-7.
Three beeps. Three warning tones!
“Come on,” Jack hissed. “Come on, come on, come on—”
Footsteps passed in the corridor, and Jack pressed himself against the wall, heart slamming against his ribs as the beeping faded.
He was running out of time. One more wrong attempt could lock him out and trigger the alarm.
“Fuck!” He needed to think like the chancellor.
Aurin saw himself as an imperial force. Number one. Master of his domain.
0-0-0-1.
Beeeeeeeeeep. Red. Three flickers.
1-3-1-3. Unlucky for everyone else, but rules don’t apply to him—“Damnit! Fuck!”
A yellow light now accompanied the red light, warning that no longer went off. Was it a silent alarm? What did it mean?
Jack’s hands shook violently. Sweat burned his eyes, further blurring the smeared buttons. He wiped his face, smearing the chancellor’s blood.
Stop. Breathe. Think.
Mr. Carrow’s voice drifted through his memory. “The mind sharpens under pressure, Jack. But only if you stay in control of your emotions. Wise men know how to stay calm in a crisis.”
He closed his eyes. Forced his breathing to slow. And in the darkness behind his eyelids, he heard it.
The tune the safe made when Aurin opened it. Beep-beep. Beep. Beep-beep. Beep. Click.
Double digit. Single digit. Double digit. Single digit. Unlock.
Four numbers. Six digits.
But what if they weren’t just numbers? What if it was a word?
Jack scrambled to the desk, scratching out the alphabet, numbering each letter. He sectioned off the single digits, A through I. Everything after that point was double-digits.
What would he pick?
Aurin believed himself invincible. A god among men. He surrounded himself with gold and power and…
“Bingo,” Jack breathed.
He rushed back to the safe. “Eleven, nine, fourteen, seven.” Double. Single. Double. Single. The beeps were familiar, but he had to be sure. His finger hovered over the ENTER key. One more wrong attempt would surely trigger the alarm.
Trust yourself. Mr. Carrow’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Please be right…” Jack pressed ENTER.
The safe chirped. Something inside clicked then whirred. And the door loosened.
He nearly sobbed.
Money. More money than he’d ever seen in his life. Thick stacks bound with paper bands, arranged in neat rows. Pounds and euros, American dollars, currencies he didn’t recognize, all of it untraceable, all of it extorted from others.
Jack stuffed the pillowcase in a frantic rush. When it bulged, and he couldn’t fit another pence, he shoved wads into his pockets, his underwear, anywhere he could fit it. Money fell from him like feathers from a molting bird. He snatched up the stack of files and dragged the sack toward the door, only to stop.
So close. Just a few strides and he could be out the door, but he needed one more thing. The most important thing. He couldn’t leave without it.
Jack scanned the corridor and eyed the small closet beneath the servants’ stairs, then darted across the hall. Wrenching it open, he stuffed the money inside and shoved the door shut. Footsteps approached.
“Shit.” He slipped into the dark closet with the cash and files.
Breath beat out of him, hard and heavy. He could smell it, the blood. Thick enough to taste.
Voices neared, and he covered his bruised mouth. Pressing himself into the shadows, he listened as two maids passed—no idea that the world was ending.
The moment their footsteps faded, Jack slipped out and staggered at the sight of his bloody footprints on the carpet. No time to worry, he rushed up the stairs, ducking into an alcove at the top.
His sleeve left a copper streak on the banister, but he had to keep moving.
Hide. Survive. Escape.
When he spotted his bedroom door standing ajar, he panicked. Had someone gone in there, or had he been so flustered that he forgot to shut it? Creeping forward, looking left then right, he slipped inside slowly and paused at the threshold, heart seizing at the sight of the chancellor’s leg.
The room was exactly as he’d left it. Bed linens tangled and stained. The heavy golden goose lying on the floor beside the chancellor’s massive body. Face-down in a spreading pool of blood.
Was he breathing?
He couldn’t tell.
Didn’t want to get too close.
The metallic stench filled the room the moment he shut the door, thick and poisonous, mingling with the ever-present fouler stench of the chancellor’s ordinary odors.
Jack stilled, looking over the body in horror, realizing the man had pissed himself. Possibly soiled himself as well.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, reality of his situation growing heavier by the second.
He pressed a fist to his mouth and looked away, struggling not to hurl. When he nearly lost the battle, he forced himself to look.