Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Either way, I wasn’t sleeping tonight.
Yawning, I wandered into the kitchenette and dumped the rest of my cold coffee into the sink. The bitter scent lingered as I rinsed the cup and set it upside down to dry. When I straightened, I noticed a trail of dirt on the floor.
Yeah, that was from me.
I opened the closet that held the cleaning supplies and grabbed the broom. Once I started sweeping, I couldn’t stop. The quiet made the sound of bristles against the old wood echo faintly, filling the space with a steady rhythm. Dust, leaves, and whatever else I’d tracked in slid across the floor. The task felt oddly calming—something simple and within my control.
I emptied the dustpan into the garbage and yawned again. My body protested, but my mind still churned.
What had Aiden been thinking earlier, trying to charm me in a hospital bed with an IV stuck in his arm? The image made me giggle, the sound too loud in the empty store. He was wild. Absolutely reckless, and I loved him for it.
I put the broom back, but something on the floor caught my attention. A thin, uneven line in the wood, just inside the storage closet.
Frowning, I crouched and brushed the dust away. The board seemed… wrong. Slightly offset, like it didn’t quite belong.
“Wait a second,” I murmured under my breath.
Cormac’s words from earlier flashed through my head. There were tunnels under this area. He’d mentioned them so casually, like that was a normal thing to drop into conversation.
My pulse kicked up. Holding my breath, I ran my fingers along the edge of the plank. Nothing. Just solid wood.
I almost laughed at myself. My imagination tended to sprint ahead of facts, especially after midnight. Still, that faint groove looked strange. I slid one finger into the thin gap and tugged. The board moved. Just slightly.
“Oh, no way,” I whispered.
I tried again, this time gripping both hands under the edge. With a grunt, the plank lifted, revealing a small metal handle beneath it. My heart leapt straight into my throat.
“What in the world…”
I pulled harder, the old hinges creaking as a section of the floor lifted like a lid. A trapdoor. A literal, honest-to-God trapdoor.
The air that rose from below smelled like dirt and iron, cool and old.
I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, landing on a small space below. Stone walls. Shelving. Something glass.
A cellar.
For a full ten seconds, I just knelt there, staring. Then curiosity shoved common sense aside. I found a small wooden ladder attached to the opening and climbed down.
The floor was packed dirt, and the air felt damp enough to cling to my skin. The space couldn’t have been more than ten by ten, half full of old canning jars. Some still held preserved fruit, cloudy with age. Others sat empty, dusted with cobwebs.
“Oh, Nana,” I whispered. “You’d love this.”
It looked like a century-old pantry, long forgotten. Except for one thing.
Boot prints.
I froze.
Clear, defined impressions tracked across the dirt, leading from the ladder to the far wall.
Someone had been down here. Recently.
My heart started to pound in my ears.
The sudden buzz of my phone nearly sent me through the ceiling. I gasped, clutching it tight before forcing out a shaky breath.
A text flashed across the screen.
Cormac: HEY, IT’S CORMAC. I HAVE THE SILVER NUGGET BOXES. I’LL CALL IN THE MORNING.
I blinked once. Then again. “How does he even have my number?” I muttered, texting back.
Me: WHERE ARE YOU? I WANT TO SEE THEM.
Three dots appeared. Then his reply.
Cormac: IT’S LATE. I’LL BRING THEM TO AIDEN’S HOSPITAL ROOM TOMORROW MORNING WHEN YOUR NONNA VISITS AT TEN. HOPEFULLY SHE’LL BRING MORE COOKIES.
I froze, rereading that last line.
Me: HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE COOKIES?
I texted the question, but the message stayed unanswered. The dots never came back.
Me: CORMAC! WHERE DID YOU FIND THE SILVER BOXES?
Nothing.
The idiot had turned off his phone.
I groaned and shoved the device into my back pocket.
A faint movement stirred the air, brushing the loose strands of my hair. A breeze. Down here.
I stilled.
A basement like this shouldn’t have airflow.
The fine hairs on my neck lifted. My eyes scanned the space again, following the edges of the shelves, the line of the dirt wall, until something caught my attention.
Straight ahead, the dirt wasn’t quite even. A faint outline stood out—a rectangle set deeper into the wall, the texture subtly different from the surrounding soil.
I stepped closer, heart thudding harder now. The air smelled faintly of earth and metal, with something older underneath, like rust or mildew. My light flickered across the surface.
The outline wasn’t natural. It was a door.
“Holy crap,” I whispered.
My hands felt clammy as I brushed dirt away, revealing the faint ridge of a wooden frame. A door was there, sealed tight against the packed soil, hidden for who knew how long.