THE O’MALLEY & SWIFT CRIME THRILLERS

Corn Dolls

Foxton Girls

We All Fall Down

The House of Secrets

The Uninvited Guest

Deadly Games

One Last Breath

Still Waters

Vanishing Act

Chill Pill

Bleeding Hearts

The Ghost Portrait

Escape Room

ESCAPE ROOM

Copyright © 2025 by K.T. Galloway

Published worldwide by A.W.E. Publishing.

This edition published in 2025

Copyright © 2025 by K.T. Galloway. The right of K.T. Galloway to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All characters and events in this book are entirely fictional. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Kate Smith

Edited by GS & LW

ESCAPE ROOM

AN O’MALLEY & SWIFT NOVEL

BOOK 13

K.T. GALLOWAY

It was meant to be fun. Now they’re dying to leave.

O’Malley and Swift join the rest of the MCU for what’s supposed to be a well-earned break from the chaos of their day jobs. A luxury Escape Room. When Evans turns up last minute to complete the group, they know they’ve got the winning team.

But the moment the doors lock behind them, things start to feel off.

The puzzles are cruel. The tasks are twisted. And the “game” doesn’t end when the timer hits zero.

Someone has built a house of horrors—designed to maim, torture, and kill. And he’s not going to stop until he’s had his fun.

He wanted victims. He got O’Malley and Swift.

Can they solve the clues before the Escape Room claims its next victim?

MAILING LIST

Thank you for reading ESCAPE ROOM

(O’Malley & Swift Book Thirteen!)

While you’re here, why not sign-up to my readers’ club where you be the first to hear my news, enter competitions, and read exclusive content:

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FOREWORD

Well, here we are at Book 13! A massive thank you for still being with me on my journey and the journey of Annie and Swift.

I really hope you enjoy this little escapade of the MCU team and the troubles that ensue when they try to have a team day out! Normally I’d say these books are stand-alone books, but perhaps for this one have a read of the rest of the series first shushing face

As always, it’s set in Norfolk, but the places are made up…

Enjoy smiling face with smiling eyes

PROLOGUE

Harriet Knight’s hands were slick with blood. Some of it was hers, most of it wasn’t. Her breath came in ragged gulps that tasted like the tang of dusty copper as she crouched beneath a staircase as quietly as possible.

They were all dead.

Toby. Josh. Amber. Michelle. David. Ella.

The seven of them had entered the game with matching T-shirts and a plan that they’d spent days going over in a group chat full of emojis. They’d laughed when they were forced to sign a waiver. They’d joked about horror films and made dares about who would scream first.

Now they were corpses in a house that still held her prisoner.

She tried to steady her breathing. There was no point in calling out again, she’d already screamed herself hoarse and all it had earned her was silence in return. And though the silence hadn’t been filled with footsteps that didn’t belong to anyone she knew, it had frozen her in fear with a flicker of movement or a shape that didn’t belong or a breath on her neck in a locked room. Fingers brushing the edge of her hair as she ducked out of reach.

Harriet had stopped believing this was just for fun hours ago. No more clever puzzles. No more clues or timers. Just traps and blood and the slow, creeping certainty that they were never meant to escape. She swallowed hard, knowing she had to move, and crept out from behind the stairs into a hallway bathed in dim amber light. Dust motes floated like fairies, but she wasn’t in a story book. Unless the Brothers Grimm had built this place.

The carpet squelched with something wet beneath the pattern. She didn’t have to look down to know it was blood. Instead, she focused on the front door just in sight. Somewhere, beyond this maze of madness, was the foyer where they'd handed over their phones and laughed about withdrawal symptoms from TikTok. The corridor stretched out in front of her, but as Harriet started to walk to the door, the perspective shifted, as though the walls were breathing. She reached out a hand to steady herself, her head swimming maddeningly.

Every step made her wince. Her left ankle was swollen from falling down the stairs and blood dripped from her right hand, sliced open on a glass cabinet that had slammed shut without warning. But none of her pain compared to what she’d seen her friends go through.

Michelle’s face, frozen in horror, glass eyes staring from a porcelain mask. Toby’s legs, still twitching. Josh—God, Josh—painted across the walls like an exploded balloon.

Harriet wasn’t crying anymore. That part of her had burned out and her hope was fast going in the same direction. She hobbled on towards the door as the house creaked then whispered.

“Little mouse… still running?”

Her stomach turned at the voice as smooth as syrup. She stopped, pressing herself against the wall hardly able to hear over the beating of her heart and the rush of blood through her ears. But through the panic, she heard a hiss slide through the air like steam. Harriet bolted.

Her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as she sprinted down the hall, ignoring the stabbing in her ankle, ignoring the pain in her ribs. She hit the front door with a cry of relief and shoved.

It opened. But Harriet wasn’t back in the foyer where it all started. Or outside the house of horrors. She was in another bloody room, one she hadn’t seen before. The floor was a mix of black-and-white tiles, above her head was a chandelier dripping blood-red wax. And in the centre of the room was a long, polished dining table set for seven. The plates were full and each one held something grossly familiar. A bracelet. A clump of blonde hair. Josh’s glasses.

A single place setting had been left empty and Harriet couldn’t help but walk over to it, bile rising in her throat. Sitting behind a napkin folded into the shape of a swan was a name card written in looping red ink.

Harriet.

She stumbled back, groaning as the door slammed shut behind her.

“No,” she whispered, spinning and running back across the room to it. She rattled the handle but it wouldn’t budge. “No, no, no⁠—”

A speaker crackled to life above her head. A voice filled the room.

“You’ve done so well,” it purred. “So clever. So fast. I almost don’t want it to end.”

Harriet looked around frantically. There had to be something. A vent. A key. A weakness in the floor. Even something she could pick the lock with. But there was no keyhole and no way out.

“You made it farther than the others. But you were never going to win, little mouse.”

She grabbed a chair and hurled it at the window. It bounced off with a thud, the reinforced glass unscathed. Then the lights went out and Harriet saw it wasn’t a real window anyway as the whole room plunged into darkness.

Something moved behind her and Harriet screamed. She ran blindly, hands outstretched, crashing into the edge of the table, knocking something to the ground with a smash. Sobbing now, she found a wall and scrabbled along it feeling her way blindly with her hands until her fingers found a seam—a door?

It felt cold and oddly smooth in one place, like it had been softened by touch over many years. She pressed harder and something clicked beneath her palm. She froze, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she could just about make out a small crawl space. It was barely tall enough for her to squeeze into, pitch black and yawning like a throat. The air that spilled out reminded her of hot summer days spent in the garden with her parents. She couldn’t place the scent as it caught at the back of her throat and made her cough.

Behind her, the room creaked and she heard the whisper of shoe on tile. Not hesitating, Harriet dropped to her knees and crawled into the passage. The ground beneath scraped her palms. Dust clogged her throat. But the tunnel pulled her in and it felt like escape. For the first time since the gruesome deaths started, Harriet felt a tug of hope in her chest that she’d found a passageway that wasn’t part of the macabre rat run designed to trap her.

She shuffled forward, the dining room shrinking behind her. Her breathing echoed off the stone and each move forward felt slower. The ceiling dipped. Her shoulders brushed the walls. Her injured ankle dragged behind her like dead weight. But it was only as the air started to change that Harriet began to gag.

Sweat trickled down her neck. The air was thicker here and she paused, trying to wipe her eyes. That was when she smelt it properly and the memory hit. It wasn’t just summer days in the garden, it was the smells of the evenings as her dad prepared their dinner. BBQ.

Burnt hair. Charred skin.

She faltered, the space around her now too tight to turn. She twisted, bracing one hand above her and felt cool metal under her fingers. A grate. She reached up and wrapped her fingers round the bars, but the grate didn’t move. She pushed harder, panic rising. But nothing.

The air grew heavier. The stone beneath her began to warm. Then she heard a mechanical click above as the grate slid open.

A rush of red-orange light spilled across her face and a shadow moved into view.

A face peered in, backlit and smiling.

“Caught you.”

And then came the fire.

ONE

The minibus pulled up to the house with a crunch of gravel under the tyres. Annie O’Malley peered past her significant other and boss, DI Joe Swift, to the ominous building outside. Something about the brickwork and the colour of the roof tiles tugged at a memory deep in Annie’s brain but she shooed it away. She knew it was important to keep her brain space available for solving clues and riddles and the sorts of other nonsense that came with the day ahead.

When she’d suggested an escape room as an alternative to having their team over for lunch again, Annie had expected to be heading to one of the small rooms hidden at the top of the local shopping mall. She’d quite fancied the Alice in Wonderland room, it was one of her favourite books and Annie knew she could have escaped that one in time for 2-for-1 cocktails in the bar outside. But the Major Crime Unit wasn’t one for doing things by halves. And their boss, Robins, a formidable woman who had chosen not to ride in the team minibus, had found this monstrosity online after a lot of research.

There was a whistle from the row of seats behind and a face peered through the gap.

“That is one hell of a luxury escape room.” DS Tom Page’s nose was squished between the head rests of Annie and Swift’s seats. “It looks more like the setting for a murder documentary.”

“Bloody hope it’s not.” Annie laughed, looking back out at the house.

It stood in its own shadow, a heavy thing of stone and blackened windows, tucked behind the trees like it didn’t want to be found. A long, manicured lawn stretched from the drive to a set of stone steps leading to an ornate front door. Annie thought it looked Georgian in era, but there was something odd and temporary about it that made images of movie sets spring to mind.

“Do you think this looks weird? Or familiar somehow,” she whispered to Swift who was trying to shoehorn a handful of snack bars and electrolyte sachets into the pockets of his shorts. “You know they let you out if you don’t solve the clues, right?” She added, seeing what he was doing.

“One can never be too prepared,” he said, kissing the tip of her freckled nose. “Dib dib and all that.”

“You were never a Boy Scout.” Annie laughed again, before furrowing her brow. “Were you?”

She knew he lived a very different childhood to her, given he grew up on an Estate and she grew up in an estate. Swift would have had acres of his own land to explore and light fires and make camp, he didn’t need the Boy Scouts.

“I was not,” he replied, peering out the window for the first time since they arrived. “Christ, what was Robins thinking? She’s telling me to tighten the purse strings and she’s out there hiring Whipstaff Manor.”

Annie looked at the brochure in her hand and turned it over, glancing at the front cover. The house looked less creepy in the picture, its splendour enhanced on the glossy pages rather than its ghosts. But that wasn’t what she was looking at. She was looking at the title.

“It’s called Keyhouse,” Annie said, lifting the brochure to Swift.

“Err, I know.” Swift’s forehead wrinkled. “O’Malley, please tell me you’ve seen Casper.”

“What?”

“Showing your age there a bit, sir,” Page called over the seats.

“Nonsense, Casper is timeless.” Swift stood up and leaned over his chair. “Tink, you’ll back me up, won’t you? You’re a foetus but I bet you’ve heard of Whipstaff Manor.”

Annie shuffled out of her chair to let Swift out, grabbing her bag from the overhead storage and contemplating whether she needed to grab her jacket too. It was mid august and sweltering outside, but Keyhouse might have air-con and she didn’t need to be worrying about being cold while solving a riddle. When you’re cold your blood flow is reduced to your core, restricting flow to your brain which meant answers wouldn’t come quite as easily if Annie was cold. This little titbit of information was stored somewhere in Annie’s brain box of facts she normally used only at pub quizzes, but it was turning out to be quite useful already today. She grabbed her jacket just in case and looked down at Tink who was busy tapping away on her phone.

“You will get nothing out of her, sir,” Page said to Swift. “She’s been on her phone the whole way here. I may as well have been sitting on my own.”

He looked sideways to his seat neighbour who was still oblivious to everything around her that wasn’t her phone.

“DS Belle Rhinehart Lock, attention please.” Swift’s shout made Annie jump.

And she wasn’t the only one. Tink stood up so quickly she bumped her head on the overhead storage.

“Ow, crap,” she hissed through her teeth, sinking back to her chair. “Jeez, Swift, what’s wrong with you?”

She ran a hand over her bleach blonde pixie cut and ruffled it more than it was already. Page stifled a laugh with a fist over his mouth, his bicep bulging with the movement.

“I was asking you a very important question, what are you doing?” Swift said.

Annie knew exactly what Tink was doing, and it involved her new man, Ben Harebell. Tall, dark hair, cute dimples. To be fair to Tink, Annie would have been stuck to her phone in the same position too, she was just lucky that Swift was sitting right next to her. Ben and Tink had met during the team’s last case; he was an auctioneer and Tink had been sent to find a painting he’d come across, and the rest was history.

“Messaging Ben,” Tink said, raising a brow. “So, way more important than your question about Casper the friendly ghost. Which, begrudgingly I do know. Not begrudgingly because it’s the best film ever, but because I didn’t want you to be right.”

Swift gave Annie and Page a smug smile and they all started to clamber off the minibus and down into the burning sunshine, shouting thanks to the driver who lifted her hand at them in return, her cap emblazoned with My other ride is still a minibus. Annie snorted at it on the way down the steps. There were no signs or staff waiting to greet them and for a few minutes the minibus was the only vehicle. But as it pulled away, the sleek body of a relatively new Porsche turned into the drive and headed in their direction.

“Nice,” Swift muttered under his breath.

“That can be you when you go for DCI,” Annie told him.

Swift gave a laugh, whether at the idea of him being DCI or at his choice of motor Annie wasn’t sure, but as the car turned on a dime and reversed into the spot the minibus had just vacated, they saw that it wasn’t their boss, Robins, who got out. Instead, a shock of pink hair poked out the open door, followed by the broad shoulders and the six foot four height of their local pathologist.

“Oh my god, Evans.” Annie smiled. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I until this morning,” he said, heading over and giving Annie a squeeze. He nodded hello to the rest of the team and popped a cap on over his head. His read ‘trust me, I’ve seen worse’ and made Annie giggle even more than the minibus driver’s hat. “Robins invited me to fill the last space as some dude couldn’t make it. I didn’t think you had anyone in the team called Ben, he a newbie?”

“He’s Tink’s newbie,” Page said, offering Evans a hand and then wincing as he shook it. “Doesn’t work for the team so I’ve no idea how she managed to wangle an invite for him in the first place to be honest.”

“He’s my emotional support pet,” Tink said, finally pocketing her phone. “And he had a house clearance he had to go to, couldn’t be helped. But I’m glad you’re taking his place, Evans.”

Tink went in for a hug and was swallowed up by Evans’ huge frame. He cut an intimidating figure, but Annie knew he was a teddy bear under the facade.

“I did one of these for the hubby’s birthday,” Evans said, looking up at the house. “We got out with six minutes to spare but it looked nothing like this.”

“Looks a bit grand for a puzzle game, doesn’t it?” said Robins, climbing out of a battered old Ford truck that she had parked behind the Porshe while the rest of the team were busy welcoming the pathologist.

Annie’s brows flew to her hairline. It was the first time she’d seen Robins out of work situations and the difference was like a shot of botox. Robins’ normally neat blonde bob was up in a ponytail with short, escaped strands tickling her cheeks. She had on a pair of Daisy Dukes, a white tank top, and cowboy boots, and she looked more like Tink’s early twenties than the early fifties Annie knew she actually was. Her sculpted arms made Annie feel a bit dumpy in her tied plaid shirt and lightweight jeans. Swift, who had a habit of reading Annie’s mind, popped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her wayward hair.

“I was expecting something in an industrial estate with sticky floors and a bit of dry ice,” Swift said as a greeting to their boss. “This is altogether something else.”

“Apparently it’s all the rage now,” Robins replied. “Fully immersive and narrative led. You get given roles, story arcs, the works.”

Page groaned. “Don’t tell me we’re LARPing.”

“Don’t tell me you’d have packed your elf ears if you’d known,” Tink sniggered, nudging Page with her elbow.

The others laughed. They were there for a team-building day, and what better way to build trust than locking your detectives in a creepy mansion and forcing them to solve riddles in order to get out?

“It reminds me of something,” Annie said, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah,” Swift replied. “Whipstaff Manor.”

“No,” she shook her head. “But, yes, I have seen Casper and I agree about it being brilliant. No, this house isn’t very child friendly from out here.”

They all took a moment to stare back at Keyhouse in all its splendour. It stared right back at them and Annie felt the hairs raise on her arms despite the sweltering heat. She wrapped them around herself and tried not to shiver.

“We going in, then?” said Tink, already halfway up the steps. “Before we all get heatstroke?”

They nodded and ascended the steps one by one behind Tink, gathering at the door as Page rang the bell. Three deep descending notes chimed ominously behind the walls. A moment passed. Then another. But there was no answer.

Swift reached for the handle. “Maybe we’re supposed to let ourselves in.”

“Very immersive,” Robins muttered.

The door swung open with a sigh and O’Malley stepped inside first. The others followed, one by one, until they were all standing just inside the entrance hall. The space could’ve swallowed her whole, and then some. A vaulted ceiling loomed high above their heads, casting shadows that danced across the marbled floor. Twin stone staircases curled up either side, leading to a balcony that circled the upper level. In the middle underneath where the twin staircases met, right at the back of the hallway, was a singular closed door. It was all dark woods and grey marble but, once again, Annie felt like she was in the set of a movie because there was no weight to any of the decor.

“Bloody hell,” Swift murmured, his voice bouncing off the stone.

A reception desk sat like a sentry along the left-hand wall of the room, unmanned with a single bell and a faded guestbook resting beside it.

“Do you reckon this is the first puzzle?” Page asked, stepping forward to peer at the guest book. “How to start your game, 101?”

Annie rubbed her arms again. The cool air inside was a welcome change from the heat, but she pulled on her jacket, glad she’d decided to bring it.

“Definitely not very child-friendly,” she said quietly.

“You sure we’re in the right place?” asked Page, and Annie could see the pages of the guest book were stuck together and the whole thing lifted in his hands. “This doesn’t feel...”

“Relax,” said Swift, clapping him on the back. “Worst-case scenario, we’ve broken into someone’s country home and they’ll offer us tea.”

Before anyone could reply, Evans reached over and pressed the bell.

Ding.

The sound was crisp and far too loud for the stillness of the hall. It echoed off the high ceiling, bounced along the walls, and then something clicked. A mechanical whirr started up behind the desk.

“Uh…” said Page, taking a step back.

With a hiss, a panel behind the desk slid open, revealing a screen. It flickered once, twice, then glowed to life with a soft golden light and the logo of Keyhouse: a keyhole in the centre of a circular, red maze.

A cheerful voice rang out and the team gathered closer to listen. Annie wrapped her fingers through Swift’s and squeezed them.

“Welcome, guests. We’ve been waiting for you. Let the game begin.”

TWO

Not long into the welcome message, Annie heard the front door shut behind them with a weighty clunk. She spun around, not realising how loud the outside world had been until it was gone. Inside, Keyhouse seemed to drink in the sounds like a black hole. She walked back over to the door and tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Why have they locked us in?” she whispered to Swift, who was half listening to the mechanical voice and half focussing on his phone.

“I guess if all the staff are busy inside, they need to make sure no one walks in unannounced and ruins our game, maybe.” He lifted his phone up to the sky. “Do you have any reception in here, Annie?”

Annie glanced at her phone and pocketed it immediately. “Nope, nothing. We are in the middle of nowhere though.”

“Yeah,” Swift replied. “Weird though, Tink had reception on the bus.”

“Looks like she doesn’t anymore, though.” Annie nudged Swift to look at Tink who was frowning so hard at her phone her young face was a prune of wrinkles.

“If I could have your full attention now, please,” the cheerful voice said. “Before we begin, we require your consent.”

The screen behind the desk blinked away from the company logo, and a page of text appeared.

“To continue, please confirm your agreement with a fingerprint,” said the voice.

"Ah," said Robins, stepping up to the desk. "Here comes the paperwork. Still immersive though, here, I wonder if we could introduce this back at the station. Save some money by cutting staff salary costs."

She gave them a wink as text began to slowly scroll up the screen. Luckily they all knew she was kidding, and as the final line of legal jargon faded, six glowing squares appeared, each labelled with one of their names.

Page blinked. “Well, that’s slick.”

“Nothing says fun like signing away your life." Annie chuckled.

Page stepped closer to the table and scanned the small print. "Standard disclaimer. Not responsible for injury, trauma, dismemberment… Wait, what?"

“You’d better be joking," Tink said, squinting at the screen.

Evans offered himself up first, pressing his thumb to the square marked with his name. The glass lit up briefly under his touch, and a soft chime sounded. One by one, the others followed. Tink. Page. Robins. Annie hesitated, then glanced at Swift. He gave her a crooked smile.

"Still time to back out," he said softly.

She shook her head. "Not a chance. You need me and my mega brain to escape the clutches of Keyhouse.”

She winked and pressed her finger to the screen and it lit up with her print. Swift followed and the screen pulsed once more, then the glowing squares disappeared.

“All consent registered,” the voice said as a panel slid open beneath the screen, revealing a sleek, velvet-lined tray divided into six compartments. “Please deposit all personal devices including and not limited to phones, smart watches, headphones, iPads, tablets. This is to avoid the temptation to connect to the internet and ruin your immersive gameplay. Devices will be returned if you leave Keyhouse.”

If we leave? Annie grimaced.

“Here we go,” said Robins, seemingly oblivious to the warning. “Time to disconnect from the world. Come on, team, let’s get offline.”

One by one, they reached into their pockets, placing their phones and watches and AirPods into the tray. Each device gave a soft little thud.

“Tink might need to chop off her hand to do this part,” Page joked.

Tink shot him a glare but didn’t deny it.

To everyone’s surprise, the voice responded. “That can be arranged if needed.”

A long silence followed.

“Okaaaay,” Tink muttered, gingerly setting her phone down and stepping back. “Creepy AI is bringing all the jokes.”

“Let’s hope that’s all it’s bringing,” said Swift under his breath, depositing his own phone and watch into the velvet lined drawer.

The panel slid closed with a quiet hiss, locking the devices away. For a moment, nothing happened and Annie wondered if they were supposed to move through the door at the back of the room, or up the staircase. And, really, how were they supposed to know what to do when there was still no sight of any staff or any instructions anywhere. She didn’t even know where the loos were and Annie was starting to feel like she needed a stress wee.

Just as she was about to belt her question into the ether, the screen flickered again, and the voice returned.

“Thank you. Now that you are fully registered and disconnected, please listen carefully to the following rules and regulations. These are in place for your safety and your enjoyment.”

“Safety first,” nodded Page. “Always a good sign.”

“One: You must remain inside the designated game area at all times. Attempting to leave early will forfeit your score and may trigger penalties.”

“Penalties?” Evans raised an eyebrow. “What kind of penalties?”

The voice didn’t seem to be answering any more questions at this moment in time. Annie wondered again about the toilets.

“Two: Do not tamper with security systems, emergency exits, or staff-only areas.”

“So no picking locks or kicking open doors,” Robins said, glaring at Swift, who grinned despite the fact he was well known to bend a few rules around breaking and entering if needed.

“Three: Physical aggression, destruction of property, and unsporting behaviour will result in immediate removal from the game.”

“Define unsporting,” said Swift. “Because if there’s a team leaderboard, I will be competitive.”

Annie smirked. “Swift, you’re competitive over who can make the best cup of tea.”

“Which, for the record, is me,” he replied.

“Which is why you should always make them.” Annie blew him a kiss.

“Four,” the voice continued, a little louder. “Teamwork is encouraged at all times. However, strategic decisions—including whether or not to trust one another—are entirely your own.”

That one earned a few sideways glances between the members of the MCU. Page gave Tink a side eye, raising two fingers and pointing at himself and then at her. I’ve got my eye on you.

“And finally: Please remember, what you see may not always be real. The game is designed to test perception as much as intellect. Trust your instincts. Or don’t.”

There was a pause, the inflection at the end of the spell made it feel as if the voice was smiling and Annie’s own smile faded just a fraction.

“You will now be guided forward from here as your experience begins. Good luck, players. May we meet again.”

The screen blinked off.

Somewhere deep in the house, a series of mechanical locks shifted, the sound of gears falling into place. And then a low hum, followed by the quiet snick of a lock turning and the singular door to the back of the room eased open on its own.

“Well,” said Robins, clapping her hands together. “Shall we?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Page said in a grand voice, “welcome to our doom.”

“Game,” Annie corrected, her tone light, but her spine tingling. “Welcome to the game.”

They started forward, the sound of their footsteps echoed gently off the polished floor. Curiosity tugged at Annie as she cut into the heart of Keyhouse, as a burst of lights from above turned the whole room blood red. A klaxon blared, cutting through the silence like a knife. Everyone jumped and Annie instinctively reached for Swift’s arm. Robins span around, scanning the empty space behind them. It was only Evans who looked like he was enjoying himself, his face lit up and he clapped his hands together eagerly.

“Love it,” he said, grinning.

“What the hell?” said Tink, not grinning at all.

The red lights pulsed in rhythmic flashes, casting long shadows across the walls. Above them, the now-familiar voice rang out again, but this time, it had completely lost its cheer.

“Alert. A personal device remains unsurrendered. Compliance is mandatory. Please deposit all items listed in the rules. This is your final warning.”

The klaxon continued, underscored now by a low mechanical hum somewhere in the walls.

“I handed in everything,” Robins said quickly, patting herself down.

“Same,” Evans laughed. “I can empty my pockets if you like, oh Great One?”

They all checked their pockets with fumbling hands, patting themselves down like the guilty suspects they regularly came across in their day jobs. Tink gasped and pulled something from her jacket pocket, a tiny smart tracker clipped to her keys.

“Oh my god. I’ve got a Tile,” she said. “I forgot I even had it. Do you think this is what they’re talking about?”

She held it up between two pinched fingers like it might explode.

Annie gave a breathless laugh. “Christ, that counts? How did they even know?”

Swift pointed back toward the wall where the small panel had slid open again, revealing the velvet-lined drawer.

“Quick, before they chop off your hands,” he said, laughing. “This is very clever, how did they know, Annie, you’re right.”

Tink hurried over and dropped the tracker into the tray. The moment it hit the lining, the lights stopped flashing and the alarm cut off mid-blare, silence returning immediately.

“Thank you,” the voice said, cheerful once more. “Your experience will now resume.”

They all stood still for a beat under the return of the normal lighting, Annie’s pulse slowly settling back to its near resting rate. She glanced around, gazing at the locked front door wondering if maybe she would like to wait in the car park for the rest of the team to finish. She loved a game, but her games consisted of Monopoly or Cluedo or occasionally a game of cards. She’d never experienced anything like this, and it was giving her pause for thought.

Evans gave a low whistle and ran a meaty hand through his hair. “Okay, that was actually cool. Creepy, but cool. I’m ready for the first puzzle now, bring it on.”

“Spoken like a man who’s never had to deal with alarms that meant life or death situations,” Robins muttered, adjusting her ponytail, making Annie wonder what situation Robins had endured. Annie had never seen Robins look flustered and it was a little disconcerting.

“Spoken like a man who cuts up dead people for a living, more like,” Tink added.

Evans grinned. “Hey, if they’re watching us, I want them to know I’m the fun one despite my job.” He gave a wave up to the ceiling and around in a circle.

“Then I’m the cautious one,” Annie said, glancing up at the walls like they might sprout eyes. “Balance is key, right?”

“And I’m the quick one.” Tink laughed along.

Swift leaned in. “What about me?”

“He’s reckless.” Annie shouted, pointing both fingers at Swift, she turned to Page. “And he’s a literal sweetheart.”

“Oi!” Page protested, throwing his arms wide. “I’m a beast. You’ll regret that when I save your life later.”

“A pussy cat more like,” Tink said, already edging forward. “Come on. Let’s see what this place really has in store.”

With nervous laughter and renewed curiosity, Annie pressed on through the open door, glancing back over her shoulder at the others trailing behind her to make sure they were still there. She knew she was being ridiculous. It was fun. At least… it was supposed to be.

She smiled to herself, forcing the tension out of her jaw. She was going to enjoy this. That was the point, wasn’t it? A silly day of challenges with her friends. Something to laugh about over drinks later. Something to—a sudden draught brushed her neck, and she stopped, just for a moment, looking around. There were no open windows or vents that she could see. She looked up and there was nothing there either, but the gust had triggered another memory deep in her cortex.

“Shift it, O’Malley, you’re in our way,” Swift said, grinning.

Annie gave a small shake of her head and stepped inside, the smile still on her lips, even though she was having to force it a little. Whatever this place had planned, she’d face it head-on. Even if a tiny part of her already wanted to run to the nearest exit.

THREE

The room through the door felt like a different world to the echoing hallway. Gone was the stark lighting and cold fittings, instead, they stepped into what looked like a cosy, sun-drenched living room. Two long, purple velvet sofas sat facing each other across a wide oak coffee table, a half-finished jigsaw puzzle spread neatly across its surface. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and antique curios. A ticking clock sat on the mantelpiece above an unlit fireplace, and oversized windows offered bright, sweeping views of a lush garden filled with swaying trees.

Annie took a slow step inside, eyes narrowing as the door swung shut behind the group. She gave a tug on the handle and was perturbed to find it locked behind them too.

“This room is in the middle of the building,” she said quietly to Swift. “There’s no way those windows are real. And the door isn’t opening any time soon. We’re trapped in here. And I’m still getting a weird sense of déjà vu.”

“God,” he said, following her gaze to the garden-scape ‘outside’ the glass. “You’re right, it’s so realistic, isn’t it, makes me feel a bit funny.”

He gave an exaggerated shiver and went to join Robins as she peered at an old gramophone sitting atop a console table under one of the fake windows.

“Ooh, vintage,” Robins said, lifting the needle. “I wonder if this still works?”

“Only one way to find out,” Swift replied, giving Robins a nod.

Robins turned the crank and lowered the arm. For a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of static. Then a rich, plummy voice echoed from the horn. It reminded Annie of the old Agatha Christie novel, And Then There Were None, and she hoped that the gramophone recording was where the similarities ended.

“Welcome, honoured guests, to Keyhouse.”

The group froze and all turned their attention to where the noise was coning from.

Annie exchanged a glance with Evans, who raised an eyebrow. “Oooh, here we go.”

“The year is 1927, and the Lady of the house, Isadora Greybriar, has summoned you to solve a most dreadful mystery.”

The voice swapped to a posh sounding woman.

“Last night, my husband, Lord Greybriar, perished under most unusual circumstances. Some say it was an accident. Others, murder. And yet, the true crime may be far worse…”

Annie gave a delighted laugh. “Oh my god, this is amazing.” She could feel herself finally relax into the game as the story unfolded. This was more like it.

“I believe that you, my guests, can help me,” the voice continued. “But you must uncover what happened before the day ends, or you too, will meet the same end as poor Greybriar. Find out how he died, discover the fate of the missing Greybriar heirloom, and determine who, if anyone, can be trusted.”

The record snuffled quietly for a moment before the voice sprang up again.

“The evening started as most do, in the drawing room. I was completing my puzzle, a tricky depiction of a skulk of foxes, when I heard my dearest ring his room bell. A few moments later the housekeeper entered the drawing room with Greybriar’s request. It was a strange request for a book to be brought up to his room. Not just any book, but a book that once caused scandal in the Greybriar family. A book that suggests all might not be as it seems, a masquerade, one might say.”

The record hissed gently for a beat, then the voice added. “The game shall end as night falls, starting here. Discover what you can. Your time begins now.”

The clock on the mantelpiece hissed to life and chimed once. Annie’s head sprang in the direction and saw that the hands had started counting down the hour from twelve. She felt a familiar bubble of excitement and looked to her team mates.

“It looks like we only have an hour in this room,” she said, looking at the clock.

Evans grinned from his seat on the comfortable sofa. “I’m so pleased I got an invite, no offence to Tink’s boyfriend. That’s one hell of a way to start a mystery.”

“Right?” Annie agreed, scanning the room with new purpose. “Two mysteries, given we need to work out how old Greybriar died and find the missing heirloom.”

“Need to work out what that heirloom is first, too,” Tink added. She was halfway up a library ladder attached on runners to one of the bookshelves.

Page had a hold of the side of the ladder and was pulling it over towards the side of the room, much to the annoyance of his colleague.

“We’ll take the bookshelves,” he said, winking up at Tink. “We’re looking for a book that could cause a scandal, Tink should be able to sniff that out in seconds, given the lascivious stuff she likes to read.”

“Oy, enough of the romance shaming,” Tink defended herself with a heavy copy of Wuthering Heights. “I’d have thought you of all people would know better.”

“Why?” Page looked up at her curiously.

“I’ve seen your Kindle.”

Annie laughed as the pair of sergeants started bickering about how many books they’d read over the last few months and turned her attention to Evans, Robins, and Swift who had all rather confusingly decided it was a good idea to have a seat.

“What are you doing?” Annie asked, tapping her wrist where a watch would sit. “We’ve only got an hour. We still need to find out what the heirloom is and how to get out of this room.”

“Plenty of time, O’Malley,” Swift said, patting the empty seat beside him on the sofa. “Why don’t we have a go at this jigsaw puzzle and see if that gets us anywhere. It is right up your street.”

Annie was about to start explaining how these kinds of rooms only work if you’re quick, when she looked down at the half finished puzzle and saw a strange outline scratched in the wood.

“Oh,” she said, dropping down next to Swift. “I see. You are all working.”

She picked up a loose jigsaw piece and looked at the puzzle on the table, carefully slotting it into place.

“It’s called having fun, Annie,” Evans joked. “We’re not working. That’s the whole point of the day. Though this does feel like a busman’s day off, now you’ve said that.”

Annie wrinkled her nose. Ever since joining the MCU, all of her holidays and days off seemed to have been marred by some sort of work related catastrophe. Trip to a spa, nearly drowned. Holiday to Spain, got stuck in a hotel under siege. Team night out to the theatre, Swift had vanished like the proverbial magician’s assistant.

“Yeah,” she said, slowly. “It would seem that murder will follow us wherever we go.”

“All part of the job,” Robins said, pushing herself to her feet. “Evans, too many cooks spoil the broth when it comes to jigsaw puzzles. What shall we do?”

“Good” Evans replied, inspecting the puzzle. “Because I’m not gonna lie, I haven’t done a jigsaw since 2004.”

He stood, scanning the room with a frown, then turned slowly toward the window. “Wait a second, didn’t Lady Isadora say the housekeeper came into the drawing room with Greybriar’s request, right?”

Robins nodded. “Yes, and?”

“Well lookie what I see,” Evans crossed the room in three long strides, heading for the heavy velvet curtains that framed the fake garden view. With a flourish, Evans yanked the curtain aside. “Tada.”

Tucked into the recess behind the drapes was a tarnished brass trolley stacked with folded napkins, a tray of empty glasses, and a few neatly aligned bottles. Annie could see that one of the napkins was stained with what looked like tea.

“Well, well,” Robins said, stepping beside him. “Let’s find out what our housekeeper is keeping house about.”

Swift groaned. “Didn’t have you down as the dad joke type, ma’am.”

“They’re the best kind, Swift,” Robins replied. “Count yourself lucky you get to hear them as we’re not in the office. There’s plenty more where that came from. Now, Evans, tell me how you knew this was here. Maybe you need to move teams.”

Annie and Swift looked at each other as Evans explained to their DCI that he’d seen the wheels of the cart and knew it was a clue. And that he’d throw himself in his freezer before he moved to their team. Annie snorted and tried to hide her laughter under her sleeve. But it was no good.

“I can’t help it, O’Malley,” Evans called over. “I just don’t like the living very much.”

She turned her attention to the puzzle again, shaking her head at Evans and Robins as they pulled out the trolley and got to work on the items gathered there.

“Right,” she looked up at Swift, feeling a blush sweep over her cheeks as he was looking back at her. Just occasionally she’d forget for a split second that he was her partner and when she remembered, the giddiness returned. She’d been like a teenager since they’d finally gotten together.

“Right,” Swift mirrored.

“How about you find the grassy areas and I’ll find the foxes?”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

They worked together in silence for a while, picking their respective pieces from the pile in the middle of the table and slotting them into place where able. Swift would occasionally pass Annie a fox’s ear or the soft fuzzy nose of a kit, and she’d return the favour with a swathe of greenery. It wasn’t long before the puzzle was starting to take shape. And the scratched outline was looking more and more like a deliberate design carved into the printed artwork.

“It’s definitely a locket,” Annie said, slotting a piece of a curled fox tail that wrapped near the edge of the marking. “See here? The hinge, the chain loop, it definitely looks like a locket.”

“Do you think this could be a clue to the missing heirloom?” Swift asked as he passed her another piece of fox cub, and it clicked neatly into place along the chain of the locket.

“Absolutely,” she said, buzzing that they’d found this answer so quickly. She looked up from the table and shouted across the room. “The heirloom is a locket, everyone. I repeat, the heirloom is a locket.”

Annie glanced at the clock, surprised to see that over forty five minutes had passed since the first room door shut behind them.

Crap.

Time was going too quickly. She sprang to her feet, the puzzle long forgotten, and ran to the bookshelves.

“How are you guys getting along?” she asked Tink and Page. “Can you believe the time?”

Tink looked over the top of Annie’s head and spoke directly to Swift.

“I think some of your competitiveness is rubbing off on your girlfriend, guv,” she said, catching a look at Annie. “Don’t worry, we’re on it.”

“Are you though?” Annie said, looking at the sergeants. “Because I’m not seeing a lot going on here.”

They rolled their eyes at each other in good sport and Tink lifted a book down and handed it to Annie.

“Some of these books are glued shut,” she said.

Annie turned it over in her hands. It felt like it had the weight of a real book, but it didn’t open up like it should.

“Not all of them,” Page added, tugging another one free. “This one’s real. A Guide to Fungi of the Southern Hemisphere. Riveting.”

“Is that a clue?” Annie asked, handing the book back to Tink who slotted it back onto the shelf. “Like, the real books are what we’re looking for?”

“Someone’s idea of a joke, probably,” Tink muttered. “Or a red herring. None of the books we’ve found mean anything other than what they actually are.”

Annie wanted to ask if they were sure, but she bit her tongue, knowing that Tink and Page were two of the cleverest people she knew. If there was a link, they’d find it.

“Oh look, Dracula,” Tink exclaimed, tugging another volume free and giving a triumphant little noise. “Whoever set this room up had taste. Mushrooms notwithstanding.”

“Let me see,” Page reached over just as she flipped open the cover.

“Ow. Dammit.” Tink flinched.

“You okay?” Annie asked.

“Yeah, just a papercut,” Tink muttered, squeezing her finger. A tiny bead of blood welled up. “Figures the book about vampires would bite back.”

Page laughed. “Classic. Are you okay?”

“Hmm,” Tink muttered, dabbing at it with her tongue. “I’ll live.”

She shoved the book back on the shelf and Annie stood back, viewing the books as a whole, rather than their individual spines. Something itched at the edge of her mind.

“Hang on…” she murmured, taking a step further back into the room.

“What’s up?” Swift asked, joining her.

“There’s one missing,” she said, pointing to a gap on the middle set of shelves.

Page scooted the ladder over to the gap and Tink gripped the sides to stop herself being thrown off. When he brought it to a halt, Tink climbed down a few rungs to the space on the bookshelf.

“Oh my god,” Tink said. “Annie, you should be doing this room on your own. She’s right, there’s a book missing.”

Annie’s heart quickened. “The gramophone message. The housekeeper came into the room looking for a book for Lord Greybriar. What if she took it up to him and that’s the space where it was on the shelf?”

“Genius” Swift uttered.

Annie couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth, though her mind was already racing ahead.

“But it still doesn’t help us get out of here,” Page pointed out, hopping off the ladder. “Unless the ghost of Greybriar is going to pop out and hand us a key.”

Swift turned toward the windows. “Robins? Evans? Any luck on your end?”

The pair were still crouched near the housekeeper’s trolley, raking through the goods.

Robins stood slowly, brushing her hands together. “We thought we were onto something, but it turned out to be nothing. Just a broken hinge.”

Evans gave a noncommittal shrug. “I think the whole trolley was a red herring, sorry guys.”

There was a flicker of something in the way they looked at each other. Annie narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything, Tink’s voice cut through the room.

“Wait.”

They all turned. Tink was still on the ladder in front of the bookshelf, her finger hovering just above the book to the right of the missing one. It had a crimson spine and embossed gold lettering.

She read aloud: “‘Pull Me.’”

Page snorted. “Seriously?”

“Only one way to find out,” Tink said as she tugged it.

There was a low click followed by a mechanical whirr, and part of the bookshelf slid sideways with a hiss of air. Behind it, a narrow brass-framed lift stood waiting, the interior softly lit by a flickering antique bulb.

“I knew there was a reason I hired you all,” Robins said, her voice dry. “Come on then, what are we waiting for? We’ve only got a few minutes before our time is up in this room. Let’s go.”

The game was on.

FOUR

Annie stepped up and pulled the brass handle, concertinaing the bird cage doors open.

“After you,” she said, ushering everyone inside, keen to get to the next room. Annie wanted to believe they had beaten the timer because the lift had been revealed, but she still had a nervous twitch that was telling her they could still fail if they didn’t leave the room in time. “Chop chop, now. No time like the present.”

“You sure she’s not the DCI?” Evans whispered loudly to Robins as they all squeezed in the tiny space. “I don’t think I’ve ever known her to be so bossy.”

“I am starting to question that myself,” Robins replied.

“Swift loves it,” Tink joked, and Annie gave her a look as she shuffled in last and pulled the grill door closed.

The lift was just big enough for six people, though it felt more like a vertical coffin as the doors clanged shut and the contraption began to rise with a juddering lurch. Page’s huge biceps pressed into Annie’s shoulder. Evans was standing uncomfortably close, muttering about how he wasn’t keen on small spaces, and Tink had one arm stretched awkwardly above her head, gripping a dusty handrail like they were on the tube.

“Cosy,” Swift murmured.

“If it breaks down, I’m eating you first, Annie,” Tink said. “You seem like you’d be the least tainted by drugs and alcohol.”

“Thanks?” Annie laughed, unsure if that was technically true, for the alcohol at least.

“My blubber would keep you all alive for months,” Evans joked, trying to wobble his tummy but the lift lurched and groaned, and he stilled himself with a grimace. “Sorry, not actually wanting to be an hors d’oeurves.”

They all laughed but there was an unease to the way it sounded trapped in the lift. Thankfully, not long later, it clunked to a halt and Annie reached forward and slid the doors open again.

No one moved. The space beyond was dimly lit this time, a study or private chamber by the look of it—dark wood panelling, a carved desk, and a leather easy chair. It was only as Annie’s eyes adapted that she saw the old fourposter bed with heavy velvet curtains. Bedroom it was, then. That would make sense given they were on the first floor now.

The air felt heavier here, warmer too, like the temperature had risen several degrees between the floors. And there was a tangy scent that hit the back of Annie’s throat as she stepped out cautiously.

“That bed is giving serious Dracula vibes,” Tink said behind her, before giving a Dracula laugh that sounded out through the silent room. “Let’s hope it doesn’t draw blood like the book did.”

“What do we think, guys?” Evans said as he stepped up to the foot of the bed and lifted the curtain, turning back to show the team. “Are we supposed to have a little snooze?”

The pathologist wasn’t looking in the direction of the bed, so Annie knew he hadn’t seen what else there was waiting for them on the silken eiderdown. Evans furrowed his brow, seemingly confused by their sudden change in expression. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. His eyes widened as he registered the bare soles pointing out at the end of the bed.

“Oh my god,” he breathed.

Swift was right behind him. “Are those⁠—?”

“Feet,” Page confirmed from behind them both. “Those are definitely feet.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tink said, stepping back. “Is that old Greybriar?”

“Lord Greybriar,” Robins murmured. “I’d wager my pension on it.”

Evans jumped away from the bed and let the curtain fall shut again. His reaction made Annie jump more than the body had, her pulse thumped loudly in her ears. But when he let out a sharp, delighted laugh it was catching. The whole team were on tenterhooks, Annie could feel the crackle of it in the air and it was only moments before they all started giggling like school kids.

“Okay,” Evans said, grinning. “That’s brilliant. Creepy as hell and so lifelike, but brilliant. this room wins.”

He turned again and lifted the curtain, holding it between his forefingers as far away from his body as he could.

“Do you think we’re supposed to treat this like we would a normal crime scene?” Annie asked, peering at what she assumed was the body of Lord Greybriar.

“Probably not, seeing as not all of the teams who play will be teams of police officers,” Page uttered, though his eyes were on the prone figure lying on the bed.

Evans stepped back, letting the others crowd closer as he drew the curtain fully open. Greybriar lay sprawled across the middle of the unmade bed, as if he’d simply reclined there for a nap and forgotten to wake up. His hands rested lightly on his chest, fingers interlaced, and the folds of his burgundy silk robe matched the bedding so precisely it took a moment to separate man from fabric.

“Wow,” Tink whispered. “That’s unsettling.”

The body was unnervingly realistic. His skin had the faint pallor of someone who’d slipped quietly from life in their sleep, lips parted slightly, hair swept back neatly from his brow. There was no blood, no bruising, no sign of a struggle. The team started to make their way around the bed, splitting up so they could get closer and drawing the curtains back from each of the sides.

“Whoever made this deserves an award,” Page murmured, leaning in to get a better look. “Look at the detail in his hands. Even the veins.”

“Seriously.” Swift nodded. “I’ve seen real corpses that looked less lifelike than this. Or is it deathlike? Either way, hats off to the props team.”

Annie didn’t add to the comments. She was still watching Greybriar’s face, half-expecting him to blink. A trick of the light made it seem like his chest might rise, but she knew that was just her eyes playing games. Or, at least, she hoped it was, because Greybriar had a look about him that Annie recognised and all these sparks of recognition were starting to alarm her. Did she know him from an old case? Surely not, maybe the props team had cast the face against an actor Annie knew from TV.

Robins let out a low whistle. “Alright. Team, are we in agreement that finding out the cause of death is our main aim in this room?”

Everyone nodded, not taking their eyes from the fake corpse.

“And as far as I can see, cause of death is officially nothing obvious. Evans?” Robins added.

The pathologist folded his arms and gave a half-nod. “If this were an actual crime scene, I’d say we hold off making assumptions until the post-mortem proved something solid. But, given that we can’t do a postmortem, I’m going to assume that the murder weapon will be lying around somewhere. There are no obvious marks on his neck or face or feet so I think we need to be looking for a bottle of poison, or maybe something that could have smothered him.”

Tink shuddered and poked Greybriar’s leg. It wobbled inwards then flopped back to its original position. “If this guy sits up and starts talking, I’m going straight back down in that lift.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Page agreed, lifting a hand to touch the fake corpse and then stopping before his fingers reached the skin. “Come on, let’s look around.”

They began to fan out across the room, slipping into investigative mode. It was second nature to them, this ability to comb a scene, pick it apart piece by piece and Annie hoped it would be a help and not a hindrance that they were so thorough. Page and Tink moved to the far corner, eyeing the dressing table and stool set up. Swift made for the desk, already flipping through a leather-bound ledger. Evans crouched by a drinks trolley, muttering to himself about vintage port masking the taste of hemlock and Robins stood, arms folded across her chest, her eyes scanning the room like a general surveying a battlefield.

But Annie stayed where she was, her gaze drawn back to Greybriar’s body. She crouched beside the bed, ignoring the slight creak of the floorboards beneath her knees and the slight creak of her knees even more. Up close, the detail was even more astonishing. The fine lines around his eyes, the thinning of the skin at his temples, the perfectly imperfect nails. The craftsmanship was almost too good. He looked like a young man who had laid down to sleep and simply died.

She reached out and gently lifted his wrist noticing the glint of a watch beneath the sleeves of his robe. Pulling back the silk, Annie saw it was heavy and antique-looking. She frowned and turned it toward her. It wasn’t a regular watch at all.

“Guys,” she said slowly. “He’s wearing a stopwatch.”

There was a brief pause in the room’s low hum of chatter.

“A what now?” Evans called from the drinks cart.

“A stopwatch,” Annie repeated. “And it’s ticking.”

She squinted down at the face of the timepiece. It was elegantly designed, with tiny roman numerals and a delicate second hand sweeping across the dial. But instead of tracking time normally, it was counting down.

“Thirty minutes,” she said, her voice a little louder now. “It’s counting down from thirty minutes.”

Swift straightened from the desk. “You think that’s our time limit?”

Annie nodded, her heart beating a little faster. “Seems like it.”

“Well, that’s not a lot of time at all,” Page muttered, gently opening the doors of the curiosity cabinet. “I wonder what happens when time runs out in this room?”

“Maybe that’s when the corpse reawakening happens,” Tink offered, pulling a sheaf of notes from a drawer in the cabinet. “Or we get locked in. I don’t fancy either, to be honest.”

Annie stayed kneeling, the weight of Greybriar’s wrist in her hand. Her stomach twisted slightly as she saw a litany of scars all along the man’s arm and she released it gently, letting it settle back on his chest. Glancing around the room, the steady tick-tick-tick of the stopwatch an ever presence now she’d heard it the once, Annie felt the buzz of nervous excitement.

There was no door other than the lift. No windows, not even the fake ones like before. Just four solid, wood panelled walls lined with bookshelves and oil paintings, a high ceiling with an old fan overhead, stirring the thick air, and the flickering amber of wall sconces casting long shadows. Annie felt a flutter of claustrophobia tickle her ribs.

“Stopwatch is a clever touch,” Robins said, joining her at the bedside. “Gives us a sense of urgency. Well found. Let’s hope there’s a clue to get us out of here at the end of it.”

Annie forced herself to nod. “I’ll feel a lot better when I know what we’re looking for.”

“Same,” Robins said. “But let’s assume there’s a logic to the puzzles. If the last room gave us the identity of the heirloom, maybe this one tells us how Greybriar died. Two important questions.”

“Still no sign of anything obvious,” Annie murmured, scanning the bed.

The sheets and blankets were rumpled around him and gathered up in lumps and bumps to his sides. One of the pillows was askew and the bolster was shoved as far away from Greybriar as it could be without falling from the bed. Annie felt it was all a bit voyeuristic, the way the bed was rumpled as though just moments earlier Greybriar had been awake and moving around between the sheets.

Luckily, across the room, Swift gave a soft whoop. “I’ve got something.”

Everyone turned as he held up a sheet of parchment, gossamer thin.

“Lord Greybriar’s will,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Or at least a version of it.”

“Get reading,” Robins said. “See if there’s anything in there about someone being cut out of an inheritance. Or any recent changes.”

Swift cleared his throat, eyes skimming the parchment. “Right. Standard formalities… bequeathing the estate, Greybriar Manor, to his wife, Isadora Greybriar… paintings to his nephew, estate bonds to the solicitor, yada yada⁠—”

He paused and everyone leaned in his direction.

“Go on,” Annie urged.

“There’s a note in the margin here.” He held the page up for emphasis, then read aloud: “‘Amended 5th August, by my own hand. I wish it noted that Miss Genevieve Aldwych, housekeeper of this house for seventeen years, is to receive the Greybriar locket, currently in my possession, as a token of my regard and deep personal appreciation.’”

“Oooh,” Page said, drawing out the sound. “Sounds like more than just deep appreciation to me.”

“I’ll say,” Tink added, poking her head up from behind the cabinet. “Is that why the wife did him in? Caught him leaving the family heirloom to the help?”

“It’s not proof,” Robins said, though her tone betrayed amusement. “But if I were investigating this properly, I’d be putting the spouse top of the list.”

“Question is,” Annie said, moving slowly back toward the bed, “where is the locket now?”

Everyone looked toward the bedside table, but it was bare except for a book of matches and a glass of water.

“And where’s the housekeeper?” Swift added, ominously.

FIVE

Annie narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking over the bed and the figure of Greybriar again. Where would someone like him keep something important?

She thought back to the wording in the will, ‘currently in my possession’. That suggested the locket wasn’t hidden away in a safe or in a vault somewhere, it was on him. Or near enough to count as in his possession. Her eyes scanned the room again, but everything about it felt curated, and she didn’t think the game makers would have put it somewhere arbitrary. So, maybe it was right in front of them.

She turned her attention to the bed and the prone figure of Greybriar. The covers were still buried beneath his body, his robe matched the bedding exactly, blurring the lines between him and the surroundings. But as she looked closer there were details that caught Annie’s eye that hadn’t the first time around. A bulge in his robe pocket, a rumpled pillow, a loose thread in the eiderdown.

“Anyone fancy fishing around in his pockets?” she asked, not overly enamoured by the prospect herself.

“I’ll do it,” Tink said brightly, cracking her knuckles. “Can’t be worse than what’s in my own dressing gown.”

Everyone watched on as Tink skipped over and crouched beside the bed, reaching toward the bulge in the robe’s pocket. Her fingers slipped inside and at once, there was a sharp click.

“Ah, ow!” Tink jerked her hand back with a wince, clutching it to her chest. “Bloody hell, not again!”

“What was that?” Evans asked, hurrying over.

“Some kind of trap,” she muttered, lifting her hand to show them. Still dangling from her fingers was a small brass contraption, its delicate jaws clamped around her fingertips. “Like a mouse-trap or something. It snapped right across my hand, the same hand with the paper cut, someone has it in for me and my fingers.”

Page leaned in, squinting. “Is that a toy?”

The trap was intricate, beautiful tiny cogs and springs fitted together and it looked more like a novelty than an actual weapon.

“It’s not sharp,” Tink said, trying to wriggle her fingers free. “Just pinchy, so yeah, not something to kill mice, something you’d get in a toy shop maybe. I might keep it and use it on Ben when he’s being annoying.”

“Still,” Robins said, her brow furrowed, “what the hell kind of escape room sets booby traps?”

This wasn’t normal. Clever, yes. Elaborate, definitely. But even the most immersive escape rooms didn’t usually go in for pain as part of the puzzle.

“You alright?” Annie asked, her eyes drifting back toward Greybriar.

“Yeah,” Tink muttered, flexing her hand. “Nothing broken. It’s just a bit weird. Anyway, nothing in his pockets except a nasty surprise, let’s keep looking.”

Annie nodded, glad Tink was okay. Her mind was now circling the edges of something she couldn’t quite pin down, unease blooming cold in her chest. As the rest of the team went back to their respective searches, Annie turned her attention back to the bed and the rumpled bolster pillow and loose thread in the eiderdown. Not really wanting to check them out further, given what had just happened to Tink, Annie had to remind herself it was just a game.

Carefully, she reached forward and lifted the pillow and there, tucked in between the feather filled cushion and the sheet, was a thick, leather-bound book. She winced as she pulled it out, half expecting something to jump out at her like a jack-in-the-box, but she lifted it unscathed. It was old, with a cracked spine and faded gold lettering across the front: Poisons & Their Properties: A Compendium for the Discerning Collector.

Annie’s pulse skipped. “Guys, look,” she said, holding it up. “This has to be the book he asked for, right?”

They all stopped what they were doing and looked at Annie.

“On poisons,” Evans said, eyebrows arching. “Subtle. I wonder what it was about this book that caused a scandal.”

Robins crossed the room, Swift at her heels. “Maybe they slipped something to their rich relatives and that’s how they ended up in this country pile? Check inside. There could be a clue.”

Annie sat carefully on the edge of the bed and opened the book as far away from her body as she could without dropping it in case there was another booby trap inside. It opened without drama. Its pages felt dry and brittle beneath her fingers, rows of neat, archaic text marching down the yellowed paper. Annie turned more pages, careful not to let them tear, until she reached a hollowed-out rectangle, cut right into the middle of the book. Perfectly measured to fit the locket nestled inside.

She stared for a moment before carefully lifting it out of its hiding place. It was antique, ornately carved with flower patterns etched along its gold faces. It sat heavily in her palm, like a real thing and not a prop thing. And then her gaze dropped to the page it had been resting on.

Ricin.

“Oh, look,” she said, lifting the book to show the others. “Another clue maybe?”

She read the entry for Ricinus communis—castor beans, commonly known for producing one of the deadliest poisons known to man.

“Oh yes,” Swift cheered. “Our team is the best team. Go MCU.”

Tink and Page did a little cheerleader dance by the side of the bed, making Annie giggle as she popped open the locket. Swift was right, the MCU did rule, and they seemed to be whizzing through this escape house like pros. She looked down at the locket, inside wasn’t a photo, or a miniature portrait, or inscription. Just a fine, pearlescent powder.

Everyone stepped in closer.

“Well,” Evans said, sniffing. “If this were a game of Cluedo, I’d say: Lady Greybriar, in the bedroom, with a locket full of poison.” He looked around the room, addressing what Annie could only assume were the hidden cameras. “Is that right? Do we win?”

Annie snapped the locket shut with a soft click, still smiling as the others congratulated themselves. And as she looked back down at Greybriar’s face, she saw the clue that would sign off on their theories.

“Look at this,” she murmured, crouching closer.

“What is it?” Robins asked, stepping in.

“There’s something under his nose.” Annie leaned over until her face was level with his, narrowing her eyes. “Look.”

Fine traces of powder clung to the stubble, just a dusting, but enough for Annie to see it was the same pearlescent as the powder in the locket. She gestured for Evans.

He bent to look. “Well, would you look at that. Right under our noses. Literally.”

“So he opened the locket,” Annie said. “Maybe he didn’t even know it was in there.”

“And then he inhaled enough to be fatal,” Robins added.

“So, the locket was the murder weapon,” Swift confirmed, ticking it off on his fingers. “Motive: jealousy over the heirloom being given to the mistress. Means: poison. Opportunity: the wife was in the library where the book and locket were hidden. All the classic beats. I’m calling it, we’ve solved the mystery of Keyhouse.”

“Boom,” Tink said, offering Page a high five.

“We are very good,” Page agreed, returning it.

But Robins didn’t look quite as jubilant.

“That was two rooms,” she said, glancing at the timer still ticking down on the stopwatch. “I was told this was a day-long experience. Fully immersive with multiple levels and lots of puzzles. Pit your team against Keyhouse is their slogan, surely there’s more to it than this? This team building day wasn’t cheap enough for it to be over in two rooms and less than two hours.”

“Well, we can’t help being brilliant,” Swift said. “Not our fault they didn’t plan for our genius.”

“True,” Evans nodded. “We could go to the pub, get drunk, spend the rest of the day congratulating ourselves.”

“Pub’s a solid plan,” Tink agreed. “Do we get a trophy? We can take it with us and try and get a free round to drink from it.”

Annie chuckled and rose to her feet, slipping the locket back into the poison book and tucking it under her arm. “Let’s take these back downstairs and let them know we’ve cracked it.”

They filed into the lift again, crammed in like sardines, joking and laughing as they pressed the button and descended. The tension that had buzzed around them before now seemed to have lifted, replaced by a post-mystery kind of euphoria.

The lift juddered to a halt and the doors clattered open, revealing the faux sun-drenched living room where they’d started their game. The gramophone still sat waiting in the corner, the housekeeper’s trolley still askew, and the bookshelves lined the walls just as before. They stepped out, stretching limbs and grinning, all buoyed by the sense of a job well done.

“So,” Evans said, glancing around the familiar room. “Now what? Do we just call it?”

“Maybe someone comes in with champagne?” Tink offered hopefully.

“But there’s been no buzzer, or announcements so far, no ‘congratulations, you solved the crime,’ which seems a bit weird,” Robins added, raising an eyebrow. “Shall we head back to the entrance and see if there’s someone there?”

Annie turned in a slow circle and headed to the door, surprised to find it still locked.

“Maybe we haven’t finished it after all?” Annie said, sucking at her teeth as she concentrated on what they needed to do next. “What did the gramophone tell us we needed to do, again?”

“She said we had to solve it before the day’s end, do you remember?” Swift replied. “That we had to find out as much as possible before then.”

“So, we’ve found the heirloom and we’ve deduced how and probably why Greybriar died. That’s all the questions Isadora asked of us.” Annie span in a circle to see more but it did nothing but make her dizzy. “How do we prove we’ve answered them?”

Page scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe we have to put the book back?”

Annie glanced down at the volume still tucked under her arm. “Hmm. Worth a try.”

“Could be how they trigger the end sequence,” Swift said. “Because there’s been nothing at all to suggest that there are any humans around, so maybe everything is electronic. It’s a creepy AI house! Let’s do that, good shout Page.”

Annie walked toward the ladder still in position near the empty slot, hearing Robins muttering that if this was AI, then it was even more of a waste of her money. The others fell silent behind Annie, as she climbed up, found the slight gap, and gently slid the volume home.

“Here we go,” whispered Evans.

Click. The sound was delicate, like a well-oiled lock engaging. And then they were plunged into total and absolute darkness. The glowing warmth of the living room vanished as the lights went out. Even the sunshine evaporated because the windows were no longer there.

Annie sucked in a breath, wobbling on the ladder.

Tink made a startled sound. “What the⁠—?”

“I can’t see,” Page said.

“None of us can,” Swift added. “Annie are you okay?”

“I’m up a ladder in the pitch black, but other than that I’m tiptop.” Annie’s pulse jumped.

The air had changed too, the temperature dropping several degrees in a single breath.

“I don’t like this,” Evans muttered. “Did we do something wrong?”

The silence stretched, broken only by their unsteady breathing and the low hum of something electrical or mechanical deep in the bones of the house and that’s when they heard a loud thud. To Annie, it sounded like someone had dropped a melon, which was slightly specific when she thought about it. And the click clunk of a door opening and closing again.

“Okay,” Tink whispered. “The whole creepy-factor just spiked a notch. What is going on? Who’s there?”

Annie remained frozen on the ladder, one hand gripping the rungs, the other braced against the bookshelf. She could still feel the spine of the poison book beneath her fingertips. “If this is the next room, it’s a bloody weird transition. Has one of you managed to get the door open as I think I’d like to leave now?”

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Evans offered. “We triggered the wrong mechanism, shorted a fuse or something.”

Page gave a dry laugh. “Or maybe this is what happens when you solve it too fast and the game punishes overachievers.”

Annie didn’t respond. Her heart was thumping now, not with excitement but with unease.

“Right,” Swift said. “Let’s stay calm and regroup. Is everyone present and correct?”

“Me,” said Page.

“Me too,” Tink chimed in.

“I’m here,” Evans said. “Not loving it as much as I was a minute ago, but present.”

“Same,” Annie said, carefully beginning to climb down the ladder, foot by tentative foot.

Swift’s voice came last. “I’m here too.”

Then silence again.

“Robins?” Annie asked.

No answer.

“Robins, you okay?” Swift called, louder this time. His voice echoed oddly, bouncing off walls that sounded hollow. But, still nothing.

Then, slowly, slowly, the darkness began to soften and shapes began to emerge. Annie blinked hard as the outline of her team members began resolving like pictures developing in a darkroom. Tink, Page, Evans, and Swift. But Robins was nowhere to be seen.

“She was right next to me,” Evans murmured. “I swear. I heard her breathing.”

“She wouldn’t just wander off in the dark,” Tink said. “Would she?”

No one answered. But Annie had a gut feeling that Robins hadn’t wandered anywhere of her own accord.

SIX

The watcher shuffled behind their screen with a wicked smile.

The players had looked so confident, moments ago. All grins and gallows humour. For a team trained to read between lines, they were surprisingly easy to read themselves. The highs of solving the poison puzzle had inflated them like helium balloons. So pleased with themselves, yet so blind to the little tweaks.

It was almost disappointing to watch. But then the lights went out, and the real game began.

The grainy display flickered from face to face, each rendered in greenish light, their eyes glowing ghoulishly through the night vision lens. Page’s confusion. Evans’ unease. Tink’s dissipating joy. Swift’s clenched jaw. Annie’s realisation. The others had been oblivious to the plan, they didn’t understand that cruelty was the point. But Annie was too clever for her own good. She saw it even before the doors had been locked. She should have listened to her gut instinct and said something, but luckily social constructs had kept her in check. And now they huddled in the dark, blinking into blackness to try and work out what the hell had just happened.

Normally it takes a couple of ‘accidents’ for the teams taking part to understand how much danger they’re actually in. Perhaps the MCU will get there quicker, given their intelligence? Perhaps not.

The moment Robins vanished was a chef’s kiss. The timing couldn’t have been better. Lights off. Attention diverted. The watcher leaned forward, elbows braced on the desk, fingers curled beneath their chin. On the bank of monitors, the green-lit figures shifted in uneasy clumps. It was delicious.

Their confusion hung in the air like static. Each of them looking in the general direction of where Robins had been only moments ago, shouting her name as though saying it enough times might conjure her back.

One of the monitors showed Swift pacing near the bookshelf, fists clenched at his sides. He kept glancing toward the shadows where Robins had last been, his brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line. It was controlled panic, the kind that would unravel him slowly, thread by stubborn thread.

Perfect.

The watcher smiled, their fingers hovered over a switch, twitching to press it. No, let the players stew a little longer. Let them whisper and wonder and doubt themselves. Only then was it time to twist the dial, letting a breath of light slip into the room. Just enough to tease their pupils into narrowing, to sharpen the edges of the dark.

Onscreen, Annie’s head snapped up first. She blinked hard, then scanned the room, counting them and clocking the gap even though she must have already known Robins wasn’t there. Realisation was a shadow that passed across her face. The watcher exhaled, slow and satisfied.

Let it in, Annie. Let it bloom.

Swift noticed next. His mouth opened slightly, as if he meant to say something but nothing came through the mic.

Five bodies. One missing.

Robins was their leader, and now she was gone.

The watcher settled back in their chair, spine pressed against the cool leather. Let the players squirm. Let them question everything they thought they knew about the house, about the game, about each other. Let them feel it.

The watcher’s fingers drifted to the edge of the desk, tapping once, twice, against the wood. The next part would come soon. But for now, the silence in the room was its own kind of symphony. On the screen, no one moved toward the spot Robins had vanished from. And that, the watcher thought with a grin, was telling. They knew something was wrong.

Good.

And by the time they realised what kind of story they were really in, it would be far, far too late.

The watcher reached forward, fingers brushing another switch.

Not yet.

Let them break a little more first.

SEVEN

Fear spread its icy fingers through the remaining members of the MCU. Annie wasn’t sure quite in what way, but she was beginning to think this escape room wasn’t what it advertised itself to be. She stared at the spot where Robins had been standing. The DCI had been right there standing next to Evans, but now she wasn’t. And as far as Annie could tell, there was no way in or out of the room except the lift and the locked door. The lift was unmoved, stuck at their floor.

“Can you check the exit again?” she called to Swift.

He did as she asked, rattling the handle and pulling at the door, but it was still locked tight.

“Robins?” Swift shouted. “Can you hear us? Are you alright? Is this a prank?”

Silence.

“She’s definitely not here,” Evans said quietly, confirming what they all already knew. “Not even Robins could play a prank like this without breaking character. Could she? Maybe she’s gone to complain about the speed at which we finished. What do we do?”

“Okay, we stay calm.” Annie’s voice came out quieter than she had planned, she cleared her throat and tried again. “Robins was right about it being over too quickly so maybe it’s not over, maybe this is part of the next phase, some solo clue thing. Maybe she’s been sent to another room?”

“Without us?” Tink frowned, her voice a little croaky. “That’s a bit weird.”

“Yeah, well so was the trap that tried to amputate your fingers,” Evans muttered. “This whole thing’s getting weirder.”

Annie kept one hand on the side of the ladder in case the lights went back out and she was sent adrift in the dark. She watched as Page moved to the centre of the room, turning in a slow circle.

“There has to be another way out,” he said. “A hidden passage or sliding panel, I don’t know, but there’s got to be something.”

“Yeah, like the lift and the ‘pull me’ book,” Evans said. “But maybe this one only opens after the book being put back triggers it.”

“How are we supposed to see what’s been triggered in the dark?” Tink asked. “Or are we supposed to use our other senses? Because right now all I can smell is Page’s generous squirt of Lynx.”

Page snorted. “It’s Dior, actually, you heathen. And I don’t generously squirt, it’s lightly spritzed.”

Through the gloom Annie could make out Tink and Page throwing each other the finger, an easiness about them that she wasn’t feeling any more. Her mind was too busy racing, scanning the edges of the locked room, every detail now seemed sinister.

“Let’s spread out,” she said. “Check the walls, the bookshelves, the floor. Anything that looks wrong.”

“The windows disappearing was pretty wrong,” Evans muttered. “I’ll start there.”

They moved quickly but Annie could tell that their previous confidence had been burned away by the strange goings on. She ran her fingers along the edges of the books beside her, shaking her head because it just felt wrong, like they were grasping at straws when before they’d had a direct guide to what they were supposed to be doing. She was about to voice her thoughts when the lights flicked. A slow, deliberate blink from the gloom to a glaringly bright red and back again.

Once. Twice. And then they stayed red. It felt as though the team were in a horror movie. A low, static crackle filled the air, dragging across Annie’s nerves like nails on a blackboard.

“What the hell?” Swift started, but then the gramophone in the corner groaned to life and drowned out what he said next.

Its golden horn vibrated with the strain of a warped record and a voice emerged. The words were garbled at first but as they became clearer they sounded old-fashioned and clipped.

“You should have stayed. You should have stayed. You should have stayed.”

It repeated, over and over.

The voice grew louder with each repetition, the static rising to a shriek beneath the words until the phrase felt less like an instruction and more like a threat.

“You should have stayed. You should have stayed. You should have stayed.”

Page clamped his hands over his ears. “Christ, can we make it stop?”

They converged on the gramophone instinctively, drawn together by the comfort of one another’s presence. Annie’s chest squeezed as she glanced around their huddled group and the voice blared on.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED.” The voice boomed from every surface now, vibrating through the floorboards, pressing against their eardrums like pressure underwater.

Tink took a step back, her hand reaching for Annie’s arm. “Please, someone turn it off.”

“I’ve got it,” Page said through gritted teeth. He surged forward and yanked the tonearm back.

“Wait—” Annie shouted, but it was too late.

There was a bright crack and a snap as blue-white sparks leapt from the device, catching Page’s hand and throwing him backwards onto the rug, where he landed hard with a choked cry. The room fell silent.

“Page!” Annie and Swift dropped to their knees beside the young DS.

Page groaned, dazed and wobbly as he tried to sit back up.

“Just stay where you are for the moment,” Annie told him, putting a gentle hand on his chest. “That was some shock you’ve just had.”

“Ow. Bloody hell, you’re not kidding.” He coughed. “Okay, that’s not normal.”

Evans paced a short arc near the gramophone, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “So maybe it’s a malfunction or an electrical surge. That would explain the lights going out too.”

Tink turned wide eyed to the pathologist. “You don’t think this is part of the game anymore?”

Annie could see the panic rising on Tink’s face and her own heart rate was so rapid it was thundering blood painfully fast through her body.

“If it is,” she said. “then I think we need to start asking what kind of game we’re really playing.”

Before anyone could reply, another click echoed from the gramophone and a voice emerged from the horn.

“Thirty seconds to compliance.”

A pause.

“Thirty.”

The red lights seemed to deepen around them, but Annie figured that could just be her out of control blood pressure.

“Twenty-nine.”

“Jesus,” Evans said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“No, no, no,” Annie breathed, scanning the room. “There has to be something we have missed.”

“Twenty-seven.”

They scattered again in a flurry of bodies and overlapping shouts.

Swift yanked at the exit doors. “Still won’t open!”

“Is this part of the game?” Tink shouted.

“Twenty-five.”

Annie dashed to the bookshelf and began tugging books free, desperate for another switch. “Look for triggers. Anything. Hidden panels.”

“Twenty-three. Twenty-two.”

The voice wasn’t stopping its countdown.

Page was back on his feet, limping as he ran fingers along the lines where the windows had been. “It’s a bluff. Has to be a bluff, we solved the clues.”

“Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.”

“Why would they do this?” Tink cried, running to Page and grabbing his arm. “I’m getting really scared.”

“Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen.”

“Everyone calm down,” Swift shouted. “This is probably designed to make us not think straight. What have we missed? We’re good at working under pressure.”

“Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.”

“We should have stayed.” Annie span on her heels and saw the open doors of the lift. “We should have stayed. We should have stayed upstairs. There, look.”

They all turned to the brass innards of the lift.

“Get in!” Annie barked, her voice sharp with urgency. “Quick.”

“Eleven. Ten.”

Tink was already hauling Page by the arm, supporting his weight as they stumbled towards the open lift.

“Eight. Seven.”

Annie shoved the others ahead of her, then lunged into the lift just as Swift pulled the gate closed behind them and hammered at the button. For a breathless second, nothing happened. The voice outside continued its steady drumbeat.

“Six. Five.”

Then the lift jerked violently upward.

A collective gasp went through the group as they were thrown against the walls and each other.

“Four.”

The countdown was still audible, but now it was fading behind them. As they rose, the voice stretched, warping like a tape played too slowly.

“Three…”

“Where’s it taking us?” Tink whispered, clutching the railing with both hands.

“I don’t care,” Evans said grimly, watching the numbers tick past. “Anywhere but there.”

“Two…”

The lift shuddered again, slowing as it neared its destination.

“One.”

They braced. But instead of a bang or a jolt, the lift came to a soft halt back at the bedroom of Lord Greybriar.

“Is… is it over?” Tink was the first to speak, a short, breathless laugh escaping her.

Page let out a shaky chuckle. “I don’t know. Did we just get punked by a faulty, haunted, smart house?”

“Jesus. That was certainly something.” Evans exhaled a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, running a hand through his hair and gathering it back up in his band, his elbows narrowly avoiding the others’ heads.

Annie peeled open the lift doors again, half-expecting someone to start clapping or for a staff member to step out and congratulate them. But the silence held. The room looked just as they’d left it. She let out a faint, involuntary laugh of her own, caught between hysteria and disbelief.

“Okay,” Swift said, drawing the word out. “So either that was the most elaborate fake-out of all time, or⁠—”

“Or we’re in a Black Mirror episode,” Tink offered, grinning a grin that looked as fake as the windows downstairs.

They exchanged glances like they weren’t quite sure if they were in on the joke, or still the punchline. As the laughter faded into an uneasy hush, Evans moved toward the bed, the rest of the team watching on.

“Maybe it’s a 4D kind of experience. So that was a panic mode, right?” he said. “And now we’re back in the bedroom in chill mode?”

“Let’s hope it lasts longer than thirty seconds,” Tink muttered, her hand clutched to her chest. “My heart is liable to implode if that happens again. No wonder we had to sign that disclaimer.”

Annie thought back to the long list of things that Keyhouse wouldn’t be liable for and wondered again if this was all part of the game.

“Well,” Evans said, rubbing his jaw. “I guess we’re not done yet.”

Annie stared into the bedroom, her stomach still twisted tight. “Do we look again at old Greybriar?”

No one answered immediately. Then Swift squared his shoulders.

“I don’t think we’ve got much of a choice.”

EIGHT

What was left of the team looked a little saggy round the edges, worn down by the games the house was playing with them and even though it wasn’t work, Swift was now technically the highest ranking officer in the room.

“Okay,” Swift said, taking his charge. “We’re back here. That’s good, isn’t it?”

No one answered. The room looked exactly as it had before and the smells still clung at the back of Annie’s throat, ready to choke her if she started breathing through her nose.

“Robins?” Evans shouted, stepping out of the lift. “Are you up here?”

Annie felt a stab of guilt that, for just a split second, she’d forgotten Robins was missing. So much had happened with Page being shocked, the count down, and the rush to get into the lift, that her DCI had completely slipped her mind. She felt awful.

“Where the bloody hell is she?” Evans said, sucking at his teeth.

“I don’t get it,” Tink said, rubbing her arms. “Why take us down to the living room, just to send us back up here again?”

“I wonder if we weren’t supposed to go back down when we did,” Annie replied. “Maybe we missed something important up here and the game needed us to come back. Perhaps we were a little too big for our boots when we said we’d finished the game in record speed. Still, there was no need to give us all palpitations in order to get us back up here. Someone is probably having a good laugh at our expense right now!”

“It’s got to be Robins,” Page said, still pale but steadier on his feet now. “She’s the only one who’s not here anymore, like, I think she’s in on it.”

Annie frowned. “Robins isn’t a sadist. She wouldn’t hurt you. And she wouldn’t just disappear on us mid-case, even for a prank.”

“You said it yourself,” Evans added. “She was right there. One second she’s beside me, the next—poof—gone. And this isn’t a case, it’s a game that she’s organised for us.”

Evans looked like a bundle of nerves and it was disconcerting from someone normally so unflappable.

“Maybe,” Annie conceded, though she didn’t really agree.

“Maybe she’s watching us,” Swift said. “Maybe this isn’t an away day after all, but a test to see how well we cope under pressure.”

Tink shivered. “Nice.”

“Why though?” Annie asked. “She’s seen how well we all perform under pressure when we’re actually at work.”

A brittle quiet settled over them, broken only by Page’s out of tune whistling of the Queen classic. Annie huffed out a laugh and Page looked at her, confused, before he clocked what he was doing.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “Ear worm moment.”

“Carry on,” Annie said, stepping back up to the bed and perching near Greybriar’s feet. “It beats sitting here in silence.”

She looked down, noticing they were as scarred as his arms had been. It triggered another bout of déjà vu, and she shuffled backwards to get a better view. The covers fell a little, pulled down by the weight of the feathers and the heavy embroidery. Leaning down, Annie went to pull them back up, bracing herself with one hand on the bed as she did. And that’s when she felt it. An unmistakeable solid lump under her hand.

“Holy crap.” She jumped down from the bed and backed away quickly.

Swift was by her side in an instant.

“Annie, what is it?”

“I think I may know what we missed.” She stepped up again and braced herself.

Lifting the pile of covers that were still heaped on the bed, Annie peered under. There, lying beside Greybriar was a young woman she could only guess was the housekeeper.

She was curled neatly on her side, hands folded like prayer beneath her cheek. Her uniform was pristine: a black dress with pearl buttons, and a crisp white apron that was rucked up beneath her. Her chestnut hair was coiled into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck, not a strand out of place.

And for one long, creeping moment, no one said anything.

“Christ, that’s good,” Page murmured. “Like, really good.”

“Animatronic?” Swift asked, stepping forward and squinting. “Or latex, maybe. Good find though, Annie, how did we miss this the first time around? Call ourselves detectives.”

He huffed out a laugh that was devoid of any humour. Annie didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on a small white bubble at the corner of the woman’s mouth.

“Poisoned too.” She pointed to the foam.

Tink bent closer, then recoiled. “Ugh, that even looks like real spit?”

“Gross,” Page added, looking a little green around the gills. “She’s better than the Greybriar dummy though, whoever made her is talented.”

“I said it before, didn’t I?” Swift muttered. “Where’s the housekeeper? And there she is. Creepy.”

Annie hovered beside him. “You called it, and we still missed it. Do you think she’s another clue? Maybe a part of the poisoning storyline?”

“Has to be,” Swift said. “Otherwise what’s the point sending us back up here?”

“So what’s the clue?” Page asked. He was leant against the strut of the bed frame looking a little peaky. “And if we find it, will they let us out?”

Annie glanced over at the DS and furrowed her brow.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you want to take a breather? You could go sit in the minibus for a bit, if you like?”

Page ran a hand over his face, rubbing away some of the sweaty sheen that had gathered there.

“I don’t want to leave you all, seems a bit unsportsmanlike,” he muttered.

“Don’t be daft,” Tink told him, rubbing his arm, though she was looking paler than normal now too. “You just had a pretty big electrical shock, it’s okay to take a minute. Not sure how much help you’re gonna be right now, anyway.”

She looked him up and down with an arched brow.

“Still more help than you, thanks Tink,” he said, grinning. “But yeah, I might just take a minute. Go get a bit of air and something sugary, if that’s okay with everyone? I think I crashed after the whole electrocution incident.”

“I’ll come with you,” Tink offered quickly, but he shook his head.

“Nah, I’m alright. Honestly. I just need a second to reset and I can probably do that better on my own. Don’t want to be the one who pukes on the props and gets written up in Robins’ feedback notes.”

They all chuckled, shifting away from the bed and the two dead prop bodies.

“How are you supposed to get out though?” Evans asked. “There’s got to be an emergency exit for health and safety reasons but it’s not obvious from looking.” He looked around at the doorless room before glancing up at the ceiling and raising his voice. “Excuse me, please can young Page here go get some air? We might consider not suing you for damages if he turns out okay.”

“I could do with a bonus,” Page laughed. “And I’ve got you all as witnesses to my shock. Maybe I’ll be able to retire and go live on an island somewhere and sip cocktails with little umbrellas for the rest of my life on the payout I’ll get from the shoddy electrics.” He looked at Swift and then quickly added. “Not that I want to retire, of course, I love my job.”

Swift snorted. “Don’t worry, I’d do the same.”

Annie was going to tell him that she’d be coming too, but was interrupted by a soft click above their heads, then came the voice.

“Of course, Detective Sergeant Page,” it said. “You are welcome to take a break. Please take the lift to the first room and head to reception. The doors will be open for you.”

“Well,” Page said, rubbing his hands together. “That sounds easy enough. I shall see you all in a bit.”

He headed in the direction of the lift, pulling shut the brass birdcage and giving them a little wave as he waited for the lift to move.

“Are you sure you don’t want some company?” Annie said, still watching the lift. “After losing Robins to the house, it seems a little rash of us not to at least consider all is not as it seems.”

It was the first time any of the team had said out loud that there may be more to the house than they first thought, but from their faces, Annie wasn’t sure they agreed with her.

Page gave her a look. “Annie, I appreciate the concern, but I’m okay. I’ll pop outside, take a breather in the minibus, and be back before you know it.”

“What if you start to feel worse?” she prompted.

“I don’t think I will,” he told her. “I’m feeling okay, it’s probably just shock rather than lasting effects of the electric shock.”

Swift rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a protein bar. “Take this, at least.”

Page smiled and took it through the bars. “Thanks, boss.”

The lift hummed as it lowered out of sight, the sound fading into silence as Page disappeared down into the belly of the house. Tink crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“That felt weird, right?” she said eventually, coughing slightly. “Like we just fed him to the lions or something. Is anyone else feeling it?”

Annie exhaled. “Yeah. I feel like everything is just a little off kilter, and it could just be the game working its magic, but I don’t know, it might not be.”

“If it is, then hats off to whoever dreamt up this place,” Evans said. “And Page will be fine, I’m sure. He looked rough so a rest will hopefully help.”

“Sure,” Swift agreed. “Maybe Robins is there too, having her own bit of R&R.”

Annie gave him a look. “I kind of want to join them.”

“Well you can’t,” Swift went on. “Page is out of the game for now so that leaves the four of us to figure out what the hell is going on.”

Annie turned back to the bed and the lifelike maid curled beside the fake Greybriar.

“Let’s go back to the beginning,” she said. “We’ve got a dead husband, a dead maid, a narrative about a poisoning, and a wife who wants us to find out what’s happened. That has to be the storyline we’re meant to follow.”

“Right,” Tink said, straightening slightly, her hands on her hips. “But when you say it like that, it’s weird that the wife has asked us to investigate, given the circumstances.”

“The circumstances being that we all think she did it?” Swift asked and Tink nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, like, why get us to investigate her own crime?” Tink added.

“Unless she didn’t kill her husband after all?” Annie said.

“And the real killer of Lord Greybriar is still out there.” Evans pursed his lips.

“The pretend real killer,” Swift added. “It’s a game, remember.”

A crackle of static filled the room around them.

“Excellent deduction,” the voice said. “You may proceed.”

One of the wooden panels on the far side of the room creaked and popped on hidden hinges, swinging open to reveal a corridor.

“Well, Robins was right about us being quick solving it in two rooms. We got too big for our boots,” Swift said. “Come on, let’s see what we’ve got next.”

They gathered near the newly opened panel, the warm light from the bedroom spilling only a little way into the corridor beyond.

“What about Page?” Tink asked, glancing back toward the lift. “And Robins, if she ever decides to reappear. How are they supposed to find us?”

Annie hesitated. “Yeah, they won’t know where we’ve gone.”

A second crackle of static whispered through the room, curling under Annie’s skin like a cold draft.

“All active players may proceed to the next room,” the voice said, pleasantly. “Late arrivals will be accommodated.”

There was a pause. Just long enough for everyone to shift uneasily.

“See,” Swift said, rubbing the back of his neck. “There we go, all sorted. Come on team, we can still solve this in time for an afternoon tea at least.”

They exchanged a glance, then, one by one, stepped into the corridor, the wooden panel slipping shut behind them.

The game was still on.

NINE

The corridor that swallowed them was narrow, its low ceiling pressing down on them like a closing jaw. The wallpaper, a faded damask in a sickly green, peeled away from the corners of the wall. Warm air puffed from the thick carpet with each step, muffling their footsteps.

"Feels like we’re inside the walls now," Evans muttered.

Tink gave a theatrical shiver. “Yeah, I’m not loving this vibe. Take me back to the deadly gramophone room with the windows, even if they weren’t real.”

The corridor opened out into a working study. The contrast from the claustrophobic hallway was sharp enough to make Annie pause on the threshold. But that wasn’t all that made her stop. She had been in this room before, she knew it.

“Swift?” she whispered. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who recognises this place?”

“It looks like a generic Boomer’s office,” he said. “But I know what you mean, it’s a bit uncanny isn’t it?”

Annie shook her head. That wasn’t it, she was sure she’d been in this actual office before. Not one like it. It kind of reminded Annie of Robins’ dark wood-clad office back at the station, before she stripped it bare and made it more feminine.

The room was neat and tidy, lined with bookshelves weighed down with textbooks and pictures and weird looking antiques. A desk was smack in the centre of the room with a single leather armchair one side, and two less comfy looking chairs the other.

Annie stepped up to the photographs to see if they would hold any clues, but they were generic pictures of graduations and academic line ups, and the faces were all too small to see anything of use. She turned back to the room and the remaining members of her team who were huddled around the projector sat atop the desk. It was already humming, its mechanical innards ticking like a heart.

“Another red herring?” Swift said, stepping around it. “Or do we watch the reel, seeing as it’s already on?”

“Let’s watch it, what’s the worst that could happen?” Evans offered.

Tink glanced at them, letting out a small laugh. “Do you want a list?”

She held up her hands as if to count on her injured fingers but with a clunk, the projector stuttered and began to whirr around and around, projecting onto a pull-down screen across the room.

The first image to flicker onto the screen was warped and grainy like an old home video in black and white. The lift appeared in the shot, the same ornate birdcage-style one they'd ridden in, viewed from inside at a high angle as if the camera were tucked into a corner of the ceiling. It was empty, but then the doors opened.

A man and woman stepped in. The image blurred as they moved, but even through the flickering distortion, Annie felt her stomach tighten in recognition.

"That’s him," she whispered. "That’s Greybriar. Look at his hair.”

The outline of his frame, his thick hair and angular chin were too distinct to be coincidence. He stood slightly hunched over the woman with him. She was slim, delicate in posture and harder to identify at first. But then the camera caught her turning to look up at Greybriar and her face flickered in and out of focus.

"And that’s the maid," Evans said. "It’s got to be."

Tink squinted. "Except... is it just me or do they look off?"

"Off how?" Swift asked.

"Their clothes," she said slowly. "They look weird. That dress she’s wearing, it’s not easy to make out but it looks different to the whole pinny thing she had going on back in the bedroom. And he doesn’t look like he’s in a suit? That’s not vintage is it, it looks like a pair of jeans?”

Annie’s heart began to thud. She stepped closer to the screen but it was so hard to make out details through the grain and the colouring and the general distortion of the projection.

“I can’t tell,” she said, squinting. “They could be jeans, but they might be those weird trousers that men wore in the twenties. You know, the ones that are tight around the ankle and puff at the hips?”

Swift gave a hum of agreement as the footage showed the man leaning in. The woman laughed, her mouth opening in a broad smile. Then he kissed her, tilting her chin up in his hands so her lips could meet his. The picture distorted again, static rippling across the frame like water. When it cleared, the lift was empty.

"Okay, well, that’s that then,” Evans said, turning slightly as if to give them some privacy. “Our next clue confirms our suspicions that Greybriar was having it away with the maid, yes?”

Swift crossed his arms. “If that’s who they were, then yes, I think it does.”

“It was definitely Greybriar,” said Annie, looking to Swift who had taken up residence in the large leather chair behind the desk. “And I’m almost certain it was the maid with him. So Evans is right and it confir⁠—”

A loud snap from the projector made all of them jump.

"Jesus," Tink gasped, hand on her heart.

The film started again as a new image emerged and they all turned back to the screen. This one was fuzzier, darker. There was a hallway that Annie didn’t recognise. The camera was tilted, looking again like it was tucked away in the top corner of the room. At the far end of the corridor the camera zoomed in to show a small room where something hung from the ceiling. A shape. A blur. The footage wobbled, shook, and just as it steadied the screen cut out.

"What the hell was that?" Annie asked, her voice low.

Evans shook his head. "Don’t know. But whatever it was, I didn’t like it."

Swift leant in to the projector and studied the reel. "There’s more on here, the film’s not done yet."

Tink steepled her hands together and tapped her fingers against her lips. “Are we meant to work out what it’s trying to show us? Like, who they are and what’s in that room?”

"We already know who they are," Evans said. "Greybriar and the maid.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tink conceded, her nose wrinkled. “I thought the footage might have been set more recently, but let’s go with that then.”

Before anyone could say anything more, the reel stuttered to life again with a whir and a crackle, drawing their attention back to the screen. The image was even more jumpy now, the colours almost entirely leached away. The camera angles flickered from one to another and a door came into view. Greybriar and the maid stepped into frame; the camera close in on their faces.

They were inside the same corridor from before. Annie recognised the wallpaper behind them. The two figures crept forward and the cold fingers of fear trickled into Annie’s stomach as she saw the maid’s mouth twisted open in a scream. Greybriar, who was already backing away, shaking his head in frantic denial. Onscreen, the maid tugged at him. He turned and they ran.

“Whats going on?” She whispered as the camera flicked across shots again and when it settled, Annie saw what the two figures would have seen.

The hanging shape. It was clearer this time. A body, suspended by the neck, gently swinging on a rope. The reel jumped again, fizzed white, and cut to black. The MCU were left with silence and the soft tick of the projector cooling. Annie exhaled slowly, only then realising she’d been holding her breath.

“Right,” Swift said finally, voice low. “That’s the end of the tape.”

Tink stepped back, arms folded tightly across her chest. “You saw their faces. They were terrified. That was some good acting. I could feel the fear vibrating off them.”

Annie nodded slowly, her gaze still on the now-blank screen. “I bloody hope it was acting.”

Swift looked over. “You think it’s part of the storyline? Another clue, maybe?

“I think maybe that hanging body was a warning to them,” Annie said. “What if that was another of Greybriar’s mistresses? Maybe that’s the motive.”

Evans frowned. “So, what—are we thinking that Lady Greybriar was taking them all out? That’s quite a stretch.”

“Yeah,” Swift agreed. “We can’t jump to any conclusions.”

Annie turned the story over in her head, she was sure that Lady Greybriar wanted revenge on her husband and the women she thought he was taking as mistresses, not only because that was what the story was pointing at, but also because she’d heard this story before somewhere.

“Fun times,” Evans said, smiling. “You know what, I’m quite enjoying all this deduction. Maybe I will move teams after all.”

“No, Evans, you’re not allowed to move to our team,” Annie told him, shaking her head. “You’re too good as a pathologist to lose. You make our work easier by giving us clues from the dead that we might well miss.”

Tink raised an eyebrow. “And, honestly, you’d get peed off with Swift pretty quickly. He’s a bit annoying as a boss.”

“Not as annoying as some of my team,” Swift retorted, hauling himself from the chair. “At least Tink is being forced to pay attention to the escape room rather than having her nose stuck in her phone like she has been recently.”

He gave her a grin.

“I wonder how Ben is getting on at his house clearance.” Tink took up Swift’s vacant seat and span it in a full circle, lifting her feet so she whizzed around quickly “He could have swiped some of the props from here instead.”

“Don’t think the punters of his auction house would much like a dead maid,” Evans replied.

“You’d be surprised.” Tink said, giving the chair another spin.

Annie gave a half-smile, but her mind was already ticking over with what should happen next. “We’ve been watching footage of rooms we haven’t seen yet. That corridor, the room with the hanging figure… we’ve not passed through anywhere that looks like that.”

Evans nodded slowly. “Which means there must be more rooms. More parts of this house we haven’t accessed yet.”

“Do you think there’s cameras in all of them,” Swift added, rubbing his chin. “And someone is watching us right now?”

“Creepy,” Tink said, the spin of her chair slowing.

Annie stood and crossed to the doorway they’d entered through. “If we can find the place in the film—the hallway and the room with the hanging body—we might be able to work out who it is. That could be the next clue. The next victim. Maybe even the real motive.”

Swift let out a slow breath. “Great idea, O’Malley.”

Evans cracked his knuckles. “Let’s find out how to get out of here and get looking.”

He gave the room one last sweep, his eyes narrowing at the edges of the screen.

“Call me Sherlock,” he went on, stepping forward, “but we’ve had a secret door behind a panel, and a bookshelf. If there’s not one behind this screen, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Don’t eat your cap, I like it,” Tink said, but stood aside as Evans reached for the frame.

With a grunt, he pulled at the handle on the bottom of the screen and they all watched as it sprang back in on itself, curling away to the tube attached to the ceiling.

“Ha,” Evans said, with a crooked smile. “Called it.”

The projector screen had revealed another door, plain and wooden, with a narrow, frosted pane at eye level. On the other side, dim shapes flickered behind the glass, moving in the same erratic rhythm as the footage they’d just watched. A stale, cold draft seeped out around the edges and whipped around Annie’s ankles.

“This place is so creepy,” Swift muttered.

“Shall we?” Annie asked.

No one moved.

“After you,” Tink said, gesturing to Annie to go first.

Annie stepped up, squaring her shoulders, but before she could reach the handle, Swift moved gently in front of her, placing a hand on the door.

“I’ve got it,” he said quietly, offering her a smile. “One of us ought to be a gentleman.”

She gave him a look. “I’m perfectly capable, you know.”

“Never doubted it, O’Malley,” he said. “But sometimes you have to humour me.”

With a low creak, he pushed the door open. The corridor beyond was just as they’d seen on the film. Long and narrow, with grubby floral wallpaper and a gloom that seemed to cling to the walls.

“Dead maid props, hidden doors, murder tapes,” Tink muttered. “Why not throw a haunted hallway into the mix?”

“If anything jumps out at me I am liable to scream like a baby,” Swift said over his shoulder. “Just to pre-warn you all.”

Then he stepped across the threshold, and the others followed.

TEN

“Keyhouse needs to advertise more,” Evans said cheerfully as he led the way down the corridor. “Honestly, I haven’t had this much fun since my cousin’s wedding. Similar vibe, actually.”

Tink paused, narrowing her eyes. “That sounds like either a really good wedding or a criminally bad one. I can’t decide.”

Evans gave a nostalgic sigh. “Bit of both. He’s a pathologist too. There was a goat. And some light arson.”

“Didn’t realise pathology attracted so many stable family types,” Swift added.

“Oh, we’re a bunch,” Evans replied.

“No kidding,” Tink said, before adding. “Do you guys agree that it’s been ages since we’ve seen Page? I’m starting to get a bit worried now.”

Annie frowned. “Yeah, I hope he’s okay, it’s been a while.”

“I miss having my phone,” Tink shrugged. “I could have messaged him and told him to get a move on.”

“Let’s go and see what’s in the next room and if he’s not there by the end of that one then we can ask old Hal 9000 here.” Swift pointed up at the ceiling in the general direction that the images had been filmed from.

“Really showing your age with that film,” Tink grinned. “That’s even older than Casper.”

“It’s a classic,” Swift said, giving her a withering look.

As Annie watched Swift and Tink giving each other eye daggers, Evans picked up the pace, his curiosity piqued.

“I think this is it,” the pathologist called back. “This is the room with the hanging body, isn’t it?”

He began to jog slightly towards the open door at the end of the corridor.

“Evans don’t get too far ahead,” Annie started, but he’d already surged forward.

He reached the doorway first, crossing the threshold with a kind of theatrical energy.

“Oh god.” Evans’ words were muffled because as soon as he stepped inside, the door slammed shut on the rest of the team.

“Evans!” Swift shouted, rushing forward. He grabbed the handle and yanked, but it didn’t budge.

“Did you see his face before it closed?” Tink said. “He looked terrified.”

“Evans!” Annie called. She banged her fist on the door. “Can you hear us? What’s going on?”

From the other side came frantic pounding of fists on the wood, as Evans’ muffled voice shouted. “You’re not going to believe this. I think it’s Robins—argh.”

A thick silence fell as Evans’ voice cut out. Annie’s blood ran cold, her legs didn’t move, like they were stuck in treacle. Swift tried the handle again, slamming his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t budge.

“Shit.” He looked around. “We need to get in there.”

Tink backed up a step, visibly shaken. “Did he say it’s Robins? What did he mean? That it’s Robins playing a trick. That the hanging body is Robins. What?”

Before anyone could answer Tink’s question, a scream tore through the door. High-pitched, raw, making Annie’s gut wrench violently, turning everything liquid.

“Oh my God. That was Evans.” Tink clapped both hands over her mouth.

Swift didn’t hesitate. He lunged at the door again, ramming it with his shoulder. “Evans! Can you hear me?”

But there was no reply. Just the echo of his scream, still bouncing down the corridor.

“Open the door!” Annie shouted, looking up at the dark corner where she guessed one of the hidden cameras might be lurking. “We know you’re watching, let us in, that sounded real.”

Swift joined her. “This isn’t funny anymore. Please open the door.”

The corridor stilled. There was no reply from the camera and the voice who had previously been talking to them.

“Come on,” Annie snapped, slamming her palm against the frame again. “Evans!”

Tink was staring upward too, scanning the ceiling frantically. “They’re watching, right? They’ve been watching this whole time. Why aren’t they doing anything?”

“I don’t know,” Swift said, his jaw clenched so hard, Annie could see the muscles working. “But if that door’s not opening⁠—”

“Then we need to find another way in,” Annie finished.

Together, the three of them turned and bolted back the way they’d come, retracing their steps toward the study. Annie’s heart was pounding, lungs burning as they burst back in the door they’d passed through minutes earlier.

Swift scanned the room, frantically. “This place is like a maze, but each option is only forward or backwards. It’s so frustrating.”

“Then let’s go backwards,” Annie said. “Maybe something’s changed.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and tore through the projector room. The air buzzed faintly with electricity, and the empty chair Tink had been sitting in spun slowly in place, as if she’d only just left it. Annie did a double take, slowing as she passed it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Swift told her. “Let’s keep going.”

The bedroom was next. Annie tried not to glance at the bed, but her eyes dragged there anyway. The bodies on the covers hadn’t moved. A chill darted across her shoulders as they hurried past them to where the iron lift cage loomed. Swift pulled open the gate and peered over the edge.

“It’s still on the ground floor,” he whispered. “You can just make out the top of it—look.”

Annie stepped closer, careful not to get too close to the shaft. She saw the dull metal roof of the lift car, just visible a floor below. But there was no button anywhere to call it back up.

“There’s a hatch,” she said, pointing. “In the roof. Look.”

Tink pressed in beside them. “We could climb down and open it. Get out that way.”

“Assuming we don’t fall and break our necks,” Swift said dryly. “There’s no ladder.”

“But it’s better than standing here doing nothing,” Annie replied.

“Is it, though?” Swift said, stepping back. “Are we risking death for a game? What if this is still part of it. We’ll look like right doughnuts.”

They all stared down at the lift, waiting for a decision. Tink was the one who finally broke the silence.

“Guys… this isn’t right.”

Annie turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

Tink chewed her lip as she spoke. “I mean, we’ve lost Robins. Page hasn’t been seen for ages. And now Evans is… I don’t even know what that scream was, but it wasn’t part of a game.”

“You don’t know that,” Swift said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Don’t I?” Tink snapped, eyes sharp. “Do you really think this is still just clever lighting and props? Because if it is, then whoever designed this place has a messed-up sense of entertainment that I don’t want to be a part of anymore. And if it’s not, if it’s something else, we need to start treating it like a real threat.”

Annie nodded slowly. “She’s right. It’s not adding up anymore. No one’s checked in on us since we arrived. We have no idea what is actually going on.”

“Plus they’ve taken our phones,” Tink added. “We literally have no way to communicate with the outside world.”

Swift ran a hand through his hair and looked down the shaft again. “But what if it’s part of the game?”

“Then we look stupid,” Tink said, a flicker of her usual fire returning. “But I’d rather that than leaving it to chance. Page, Robins, Evans, they’re all part of our team, they’re our friends. We can’t leave it to chance.”

“Okay,” Swift agreed, giving a nod. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He took a breath and looked around the room, then back to the shaft. “Alright. I’ll go last. Tink, you’re the lightest, you go first.”

Tink's mouth opened, clearly about to argue, but then she shut it again and nodded. “Fine. Just don’t drop me.”

Swift crouched at the edge, bracing one foot against the doorway and offering both hands. “Come on. I’ll lower you as far as I can. Then you’ll have to drop the rest of the way—try to land on the edge, not the middle of the roof.”

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve done all week,” she muttered, sitting on the edge of the lift shaft and dangling her legs over. “Can I retract my offer?”

“The floor the lift is on is the ground floor,” Annie said, trying to picture the huge house from the outside. “But we don’t know if there are floors beneath it, so if it starts to drop then grab hold of the ledge in the living room if you can.”

“Not giving me the boost of confidence I was looking for there, O’Malley,” Tink grimaced and twisted her body around.

She gripped the edge of the lift frame and started to lower herself into the shaft. When she was as low as she could go, Swift lay flat on his front and offered his hands up to the DS, grunting with the effort as he eased her further down. Annie leaned in, holding her breath as Tink's legs dangled into the darkness.

“Lower… lower… now,” Tink said, and Swift released her.

There was a soft thud, then a short silence.

“You okay?” Annie called.

“I landed on my arse,” came the muffled reply. “But I’m fine. The hatch is right here, hold on, let me see if I can open it.”

Swift glanced up at Annie while Tink battled with the hatch.

“You okay?” he asked.

Annie gave him a tight nod and stepped forward. “Yeah, you?”

“Think so. I am debating whether I will ever leave the house again after this though. I think we’re jinxed.”

“Ditto.” Annie laughed, before an icy drip settled in her stomach again. “This might sound a bit Matrixy, but I swear we’ve been here before. Surely I can’t have déjà vu in every room. Something about this is setting off my spidey senses and it has been since we stepped inside the front door.”

“Any idea what?”

“No.” Annie shook her head. “But it’ll come back to me.”

“Have you both forgotten about me?” Tink shouted back up the lift shaft. “Two minutes alone and you’re distracted by each other already.”

Annie and Swift both peered back down into the gloom where a square of light had appeared in the lift roof.

“Well done,” Swift called. “I’m sending Annie now. Stand back from the hatch.”

“Don’t drop me,” Annie said as she lowered herself to the shaft. “That’s a long fall.”

“You’re not going to fall,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ve got you.”

Annie took Swift’s hands and lowered herself down gently, the rough edge of the doorway scraping the insides of her arms and the rise of her chest. She grimaced but held on tightly as Swift took over and lowered her further.

“Okay,” he told her. “That’s as far as my arms reach.”

Annie let go of Swift and dropped with a thud onto the lift roof, grabbing the cables as it jolted under her. Her knees bent to absorb the impact, heart pounding. She exhaled shakily and looked up, expecting to see Swift’s face peering down after her. But the shaft above was empty.

“Swift?” she called, her voice catching slightly. “Swift!”

Panic fluttered in her throat. Not again, not another one gone. She gripped the thick cables, warm metal biting into her fingers. Then, a shape shifted above. A pair of legs appeared, bracing against the lip of the shaft.

“Here I come,” Swift’s voice came down. “Mind out the way, I am liable to fall like a sack of potatoes.”

Relief crashed over Annie in a wave and she ducked down into the belly of the lift to leave Swift space to drop.

Tink had already opened the concertina doors and Annie headed into the dark living room, where the windows were still switched off and the lights were non existent. The only light came from the lift itself and the doorway to the entrance hall which was sitting ajar.

Swift skidded to a halt beside her and pointed. “Look.”

Tink’s shadow passed over the slither of light.

“It’s been wedged open with the jigsaw box. Good old Page.” She wrenched the door open the rest of the way and practically stumbled out. “Guys, come on.”

They ran out into the open foyer. It looked just as it had when they arrived. The sweeping staircase, the heavy wooden door to the outside, the desk and the screen behind it.

“We’re back,” Annie breathed, stepping forward. “I can’t believe it, we’re actually back.”

A rush of cooler air hit her face, smelling faintly of lavender polish. She blinked and for a second, relief loosened the tightness in her chest. They were so close to being free. The outside world was just on the other side of that door. Swift didn’t wait, he crossed the foyer in four strides and grabbed the front door handle.

“Careful,” Annie said, suddenly wary.

He twisted. Nothing. He pushed with his shoulder. Still nothing.

“It’s still locked,” he growled. “It’s not budging.”

Tink had gone to the screen by the reception desk and was feeling around the wall underneath it.

“Phones. If we can just get our phones, we can call for backup. But I can’t find the edges of that freaking drawer we shoved them all in.” She bashed her hand against the wall, giving a yell. “I can’t find them.”

Swift looked up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing. “No message from our friendly neighbourhood psychopath. Hello, are you still there? We’d like to leave now, please. And we’d like our colleagues back.”

Annie slowly turned in a circle, her eyes sweeping the foyer. They’d been in the only room accessible from the entrance on this level, then gone up to the first floor in the lift. If they weren’t getting out, then they’d need to go back up, because she sure as anything wasn’t heading back to the living room. The stairs were the only other choice. She started toward them, something niggling at the edge of her vision. Halfway across the marble flooring, she realised what it was. A dark, glistening pool at the base of the first step.

“Guys.”

Tink’s head snapped around. Swift stepped forward, following Annie’s gaze.

“What is that?” he asked.

Annie ran over and crouched, her stomach twisting. The floor beneath the staircase was slick and red, like a spreading bruise.

“Blood,” she said quietly, smelling the synonymous metallic tang it had left. “It looks fresh.”

Tink backed up a step. “No. No, come on, this has to be a trick. Fake blood. Part of the set, right? PAGE!”

ELEVEN

“Page!” Annie shouted, already up to the half-landing where the stairs turned at right angles on themselves.

She could hear Swift following close behind, his hand skimming the rail with a swoosh.

“Robins! Evans!” Tink wasn’t far behind, panting with the effort, but her voice still cut clear.

Annie reached the top step and launched herself at the heavy door, slamming it open and pushing through. The rush of air that hit her caused her to stop dead, her hand gripped tightly on the door handle, her feet teetering on the threshold.

Swift crashed into the space behind her and grabbed her arm to steady them both. “What the⁠—?”

The floor beyond the threshold was gone. A sheer drop yawned before them, two storeys down into a cavernous space below. There was no railing or barrier to stop them toppling over and dropping to the brutal concrete floor. And down there, sprawled awkwardly on his side, was Page.

“Oh my God,” Annie whispered. “Tom.”

Tink arrived behind them with a gasp, nearly slamming into Swift. “What is it? Why’ve you—” She looked past their shoulders and stopped cold. “No.”

Page wasn’t moving.

“Can you see him breathing?” Swift said, narrowing his eyes and crouching to peer down. “Is he⁠—”

“He’s alive,” Annie said quickly, willing it to be true. “He has to be. Look, his hand just moved, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, look, his fingers are twitching. Shit, Page,” Tink shouted. “How do we get to him?”

They all stared down in helpless silence. The drop was far too far to jump down or lower each other like they had done in the lift. Annie glanced around, frantically trying to find a ladder or a rope or something to use to reach Page. If he’d run through the door like she had, and fallen, he would undoubtedly have a few broken bones. If he was lucky that would be all he had done.

A narrow ledge ran the circumference around of the room. It hugged the walls, leading all the way to another door on the far side.

“We’ll have to go around,” Swift said, looking grimly at the impossible walkway.

“I’m staying here,” Tink said, already lowering herself to sit by the door. “I’m not leaving him down there on his own. If he wakes up, I can let him know we’re here and that you’re trying to find a way down.”

“You can’t stay,” Swift argued. “What if something happens to you?”

“I can’t leave him,” she snapped back. “One of us needs to keep eyes on Page in case he wakes up, or in case someone else gets to him first.”

“No,” Swift said firmly. “We’re not splitting up again. Look what happened the last time. We lost Evans. Robins is still missing. I’m not risking either of you too.”

Annie turned to look at him. “But we also can’t leave Page.”

“I know,” Swift said, jaw tight. “But this isn’t optional. If that path is our only route forward, we stick together. We find another way down and we come back for him. But we do it together.”

Tink’s eyes filled with tears, and she swiped at them roughly with the back of her hand. “He’d better be alive when we get to him.”

“He will,” Annie said, noticing the young DS shivering.

She slipped off her jacket and wrapped it around Tink’s shoulders. Tink looked up at her with a grateful nod and pushed her arms into the sleeves, pulling the lightweight material around her body like armour. Annie lent her a hand and pulled her back to her feet and they watched as Swift stepped onto the ledge first, testing it with one foot, then shifting his weight.

“Stay close to the wall and don’t look down.” Swift looked like a ghost.

“Oh god,” Tink muttered shakily, glancing at Page once more before slowly inching after the DI.

Annie took up the rear, pressing her palm against the cold wall as she moved. It was smooth under her fingers, no grip whatsoever. The white paint felt slippery and there was no trace of brick or stone under it.

“This place has been designed meticulously,” she said, eyes trained on the wall directly opposite. “The attention to detail is scary, this wall has literally no grip to it.”

“Can we think about something else?” Tink’s voice was shaky.

“Sure, sorry,” Annie replied, trying to wrack her brains for a topic that wasn’t linked to this death house they were trapped in, but nothing volunteered itself.

“Let’s talk about something stupid,” Swift said suddenly, his voice tight as he shuffled sideways towards the door. “Like… I don’t know. Favourite biscuits. Go.”

Annie blinked, then gave a faint huff of laughter. “Seriously?”

“You got a better idea? Because mine is currently ‘don’t look down’ on repeat. And it’s not working.”

“Fine.” She focused on the feel of her own feet, each careful step as the ledge creaked beneath them. “Chocolate Hobnob. Easy. No contest, really.”

“Solid choice,” Swift said, inching forward. “Respectable crunch. Good dunk integrity.”

“Dunk integrity?” Tink managed, her voice thin but the regular twang of amusement just about audible. “That’s a thing?”

“Absolutely a thing,” Swift replied. “No one wants a soggy biscuit collapsing in their tea. Your turn, Tink.”

“Er…” Tink glanced down automatically, cursed softly, and refocused on the wall ahead. “Fox’s Viennese. The swirly kind. I eat them in bed with hot chocolate and rewatch Bake Off when I’m hungover.”

“My hangover cure is a KFC,” Annie said, lips twitching. “Not that I get a lot of them now. I’m not in my twenties anymore, I can’t handle my drink so I just don’t do it.

Swift chuckled quietly.

“Okay,” Annie laughed, shifting carefully along the ledge. “What about you, Joe?”

“Digestive,” he said, stoically.

“Oh my god, Swift,” Tink snorted. “You’re so boring.”

“What?” Swift tried to turn his head to look at Tink but wobbled forward slightly.

His whole body moved in slow motion as one foot slipped, his weight suddenly tipping too far forward.

“Joe!” Annie shouted, lunging instinctively, but she was too far away from him to help. “Tink, do something!”

Swift’s arms pinwheeled as he scrambled for balance. His fingers grazed the wall, searching for something—anything—to hold onto, but the painted surface offered no grip. His boot skidded off the edge, toes dangling over the void.

Tink screamed, pushing her arm out to the side. “Swift!”

Her forearm shot across his chest, catching him hard, and somehow shoving him back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of both of them; Tink grunting with the effort, Swift letting out a shocked gasp as his back thudded against plaster.

“Jesus. Tink,” he managed, eyes wide with shock, his chest heaving beneath her arm.

“Don’t move,” she snapped, her voice trembling with adrenaline. “Just, don’t bloody move.”

“I’m not,” Swift said hoarsely, his hands splayed flat against the wall now, his knees bent like he might crumple. “Trust me. I’m very happy right here.”

Annie had frozen mid-step behind them, her whole body tense. “Is he okay?”

Tink nodded jerkily, her arm still braced across Swift. “Yeah. I’ve got him.”

They stayed that way for a moment. Swift trapped against the wall, Tink clinging on like a human seatbelt until he found his breath and gave a strained laugh.

“Hell of a left hook you’ve got,” he muttered.

Tink didn’t let go. “You’re welcome.”

“Jesus, Joe, I thought you were gone.” Annie pressed herself to the wall, heart hammering at the idea Swift might have fallen and hurt himself. Or worse.

“Yeah,” he said, though his voice was thin. “Yeah. I think I just aged about fifteen years. Christ, that was far too close for comfort. You can mock me about my brilliant biscuit choice when we’re on solid ground again, Tink. Deal?”

“Okay, deal,” Tink stuttered. “I was going to ask you what your worst biscuit is, but I’m saving that for when we get out of this hell hole.”

Annie cracked a small smile but didn’t say anything. Her heart was aching at the idea that maybe they wouldn’t get out of Keyhouse. That it had somehow been built just to house their demise. But that was ridiculous, right? Who would want to lure the MCU to a prison in the middle of nowhere just to torture them to death?

Annie let out a snort at the question. Loads of people. That was her answer right there.

“Guys,” she offered up tentatively. “I am starting to wonder if this is personal.”

“What do you mean?” Swift’s voice was still shaky.

“It’s just,” Annie went on as she shuffled on the ledge behind Tink. Somehow saying it into the ether of the perilous drop, rather than to their faces felt a little less daft, “I can’t seem to stop thinking about my weird sense of déjà vu, and that I’ve been here before. Robins disappeared before things really started getting weird and dangerous and she’s the only person who knows who she booked through and what their name was etc. And now we’re three team members down and I have no doubt in my mind that this is not an ordinary escape room. From your paper cut, that bloody mouse trap, poor Page’s electric shock. They were all things that we could almost put down to mistakes or accidents. But that great ruddy whole in the floor, that’s no accident.”

Annie wanted to look at Page to check he was still moving, but she daren’t because they were nearing the corner and she held her breath as she passed the tightest section yet. Catching a glimpse of Swift as he shifted his weight around to the adjacent wall. He looked pasty, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. But even through his terror, he looked over at Annie and gave her a small nod. Annie felt her nose sting and tears spring into her eyes.

“I know what you mean,” he said, his chest rising rapidly with each breath. “From Evans being cut off from us, and Page… well, Page being hurt, I don’t think this is a game anymore either. And I definitely don’t think Robins has anything to do with what’s happening. If she saw Page now, she’d have stopped this whole charade. I don’t think Page is acting down there. He wouldn’t put us through that pain, especially not you Tink. I guess what we need to find out is if we’re the actual targets or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let’s get off this ledge and regroup before we think too hard about it.”

Annie sniffed and blinked fast, trying to clear the tears before they slipped down her cheeks. She forced herself to keep moving. They were almost at the door now, the end of the ledge in sight. Annie’s heartbeat was just beginning to slow, her shoulders beginning to drop when a burst of static cracked through the air. All three of them froze as the sound of slow, deliberate clapping echoed through hidden speakers. One beat. Two. Three.

“Bravo,” the voice drawled over the tannoy. It was distorted, almost sing-song. “You’re getting warmer.”

Annie felt a wash of nausea come over her. She turned her head carefully toward the ceiling, toward the walls, anywhere the speakers might be hidden.

“See?” the voice continued. “Isn’t it more fun when the stakes are real? You wanted a team building day and that is exactly what you’ll get. The chance for you all to see what you’re like when the masks fall off. Who can you trust?”

“Who are you?” Tink shouted, her voice cracking. “What the hell do you want from us?”

A low chuckle rang out across the room. Then silence fell.

Swift was already pushing toward the door. “Move. Now. Before they change the game again.”

Annie glanced one last time at the crumpled form of Page below. Then she swallowed hard, gritted her teeth, and followed Swift and Tink through the door.

TWELVE

They stepped through the door into a small room that smelt faintly of a sweet perfume laced with something floral that made Annie’s stomach turn. The room was well lit, spotlights dotted in the false ceiling panels, and the walls were a sickly green colour. It felt like an office block. Two options presented themselves with blunt finality ahead of the three of the team who were still standing.

To the right, a bold red sign read EXIT above a heavy black door with a steel handle. To the left, a staircase dropped steeply into the dark.

“There,” Swift said, already moving toward the stairs. “That must lead to Page. The exit door has got to be a fake, right? It’s right in the middle of the house.”

“Even if it’s not a fake,” Tink ran to the top of the stairs. “Even if that door leads right back out to the hot sun, we’re taking these stairs. I promised Page we’d come back for him and there’s no way I’m taking an exit without him.”

“Not to mention Robins and Evans,” Annie added.

They had a steely determination between the three of them now. An army short in numbers but huge in ferocity. Whatever it was they were battling against, Annie knew they had to at least put on a front, because the voice in the walls seemed to relish their panic and fear.

“Come on then,” she said, taking the first step into the dark.

The others followed close behind her without hesitation. The walls grew tighter with each step, the air thickening. Annie ran her fingers along the wall beside her to make sure she stayed grounded, then paused and tried again. The wall was old stone, but oddly smooth in places. Worn down by time or hands, or both. She frowned, realising that the stone had a strange familiarity to it. So did the low curve of the ceiling, which forced her to duck slightly as they descended. A bulb hung ahead, naked and yellowing, its light swaying slightly as if recently disturbed. It cast long, moving shadows that stretched across the stairwell like fingers.

Annie shivered. She knew this kind of staircase, knew the feel of it under her trainers. But from where? It was like a dream she couldn't quite remember. Shapes and impressions flickering at the edge of her memory.

She shrugged it off and kept going down, descending what felt like a long way. Annie counted forty steps before she stopped bothering. They had to be below ground level now, below the foyer, the lift shaft, and the maze of corridors. Deep inside the belly of Keyhouse. Even if she had kept counting, there was no way she’d be able to work out where she was. That was one way Keyhouse had been messing with their minds, twisting and turning them until they had no idea where they were or what time it was.

That’s a good point.

“Does anyone have an analogue watch they were allowed to keep on them?” she asked back over her shoulder. “We’ve basically been in the dark about what’s going on outside since we got here. I’d like to know what the time is at least.”

“Nope,” Swift called down the stairs. “Just that Apple thing my mum made me wear so I’d stop leaving her emails unanswered.”

Tink snorted despite the circumstances. “Did it work?”

“No.”

“Me neither, Annie,” Tink added. “But it’s definitely nearly dinner time because I’m really hungry now I’ve started thinking about it.”

“Uhhhoh, hangry Tink is about to descend.” Swift chuckled to himself. “It’s a good job I stuffed my jeans with snack bars after all, isn’t it, O’Malley?”

Annie’s stomach answered with a long, low rumble that made her feel nauseous. She grabbed the offered bar and ripped into it, savouring the chewy oats and dried fruit. Feeling slightly more energised than when they’d started their descent, Annie washed the bar down with an electrolyte gel sachet and felt her sugar levels spike almost immediately as the staircase finally spat them out into what felt like a tomb.

It didn’t look like part of Keyhouse anymore. Not that the image of Keyhouse was anything like Annie had imagined from the outside.

The ceiling pressed low, barely clearing Swift’s head. The walls were made of the same strange stone as the staircase, old and solid, but polished smooth with time. The air was still and bitterly cold, touched with a faint sting of iron and damp.

“Are we definitely in the right place?” Tink asked, peering around with a scowl on her face. “Because that room Page had fallen into was white and stark and this feels like a dungeon.”

“This way.” Annie nodded, noticing a door behind them tucked away into the brickwork. She made a mental note to check it when they’d found Page.

They moved slowly forward, until the room widened slightly, and tall, narrow brick pillars began to rise around them, first two, then more, as if they’d walked into the ribcage of something ancient and dead. The space grew cavernous, the ceiling arching overhead in long, shallow curves. The further they went, the more it felt like a crypt.

Shadows clung to the creases in the brickwork. Strange shapes loomed at the edges and when Annie looked harder she realised they were rusted sconces, frayed rope, crumbling alcoves that once might have held candles or tools. And still, that sense of almost. Like she knew this place enough that the hair on her arms stood on end. Something about the pattern in the brick teased at the edge of her mind.

“I think we’ve just doubled back on ourselves now because that staircase was a long way in one direction, the wrong one,” Swift murmured behind her, forcing her to take a breath. “Page is definitely this way.”

They followed a flicker of light, barely visible at first, just a soft golden haze at the far end of the arched chambers. And as they stepped through the final archway, the room opened out into what felt like a clinical space compared with the brickwork they’d left behind them. Above their heads the ledge they’d so carefully crept around hung like a shadow cast by the past, totally out of reach now.

The clinical harshness of the space hit Annie like a slap. The brickwork gave way to plasterboard and whitewashed paint, as if this room had been swallowed whole by time and then reborn as something more modern, more menacing in its sterility.

Tink was already running.

“Page!” she called, her boots slapping against the concrete.

He was crumpled in the middle of the room, limbs bent at impossible angles, a smear of blood painted in a half-moon around him. Annie started to run too, feeling Swift by her side. They reached Page and dropped to their knees beside him.

“Oh God,” Tink whispered, reaching for his hand. “Tom? Can you hear me? It’s me, it’s us. We’re here.”

Page groaned, his eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open them. Annie looked over his body, top to toes to see if there was anything glaringly wrong. And there was a sickening amount. His head was bleeding from a wound along his hairline. His right arm was bleeding badly from a long, deep gash that looked as though something sharp had sliced it lengthways. Blood soaked his sleeve and pooled on the floor. Looking around there was nothing obvious that could have caused this kind of injury and Annie thought back to the blood in the reception hall and leading up the stairs. Had Page been attacked as he tried to leave Keyhouse? Had he run away up the stairs and through the door with the drop, unable to stop himself falling? She looked back down at the unconscious young man and felt her throat burn with bile.

“We need to stop that bleeding,” Swift said, already tugging off his jacket. “Here, Annie, take this and put pressure on the wound.”

Annie took the jacket and wadded it against the long cut on Page’s arm. Even in his unconscious state, he winced and gave a strangled moan.

“It’s okay,” Annie said gently. “I know it hurts, but we’ve got you now. We’re here. You’re going to be okay.”

She shifted, her knees aching against the hard floor, and that’s when she got a proper look at Page’s legs. The room swayed around her. They were wrong. Both of them. Bent in ways legs weren’t supposed to bend. His left foot turned almost backward, the bone beneath the skin visibly out of place.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Swift followed her gaze and hissed out a breath. “Shit. He must’ve landed feet first. We need to get him out of here, he could be bleeding internally too.”

“We can’t move him,” Annie said. “We shouldn’t move him. If his spine’s injured we could do way more damage.”

“We have to move him,” Tink snapped. “We’re not just going to leave him here like this.”

“But if we move him wrong, we could paralyse him. We don’t know what damage has been done.” She looked up at Swift and Tink, heart thudding. “We need help. Proper help from professionals. But I literally don’t know how we’re going to do that because we have no phones and no way of getting a message out.”

“There has to be a way out,” Swift said, scanning the room.

Page stirred again, muttering something incoherent. Annie pressed the jacket more firmly against his arm.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” she whispered to him. “I promise.”

A crackle of static rolled through the room, then the speaker buzzed to life again. Annie flinched and looked to Swift for reassurance.

“Touching,” said the voice, with that same cool detachment that made her skin crawl. “You made a brave choice. Most would have left him.”

None of them moved a muscle.

“You could have walked away,” the voice went on. “You should have walked away. But no, you came back and you showed loyalty to your team mate.”

Annie’s heart hammered.

“I gave you a chance. A gift, really,” the voice continued. “And you squandered it. So let’s find out just how deep that loyalty runs. Let’s see what happens when the clock starts ticking.”

A sharp, mechanical beep echoed through the space. Then another.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A digital timer lit up on the wall. 02:00. The numbers glowed red and the beeping accelerated.

Swift’s eyes widened. “They’re not serious.”

“They are,” Tink said. “You know they are.”

The timer clicked over to 01:59. Then 01:58.

“Shit,” Annie hissed. “Okay, we move him. Now. We can’t wait for this to play out, we only have two minutes.”

“We don’t know what happens when it hits zero, though,” Swift said.

“We do,” Tink snapped. “Something bad. Doesn’t matter exactly what, does it?”

“Okay.” Annie turned to Page. “We lift him together. Try not to jostle his back or his legs.”

“I’ll take his shoulders,” Swift said, already crouching. “Tink, Annie take a leg each, carefully now.”

“Got it.” Annie tied Swift’s jacket around Page’s arm to stop the flow of blood and lifted one of his legs, nodding at Tink to do the same.

The timer ticked to 01:39.

Page groaned faintly as they lifted him. His face twisted in pain, though he didn’t wake. Tink’s breath came in quick gasps.

“He’s heavy,” she muttered.

“He’s pure muscle, we’ll tell him to take it easy at the gym when we get home,” Swift said. “You’re doing great.”

Annie gritted her teeth and adjusted her arms as they edged across the floor. She tried not to look again at the timer but couldn’t help it—01:18.

“There’s no way we can carry him up that huge flight of stairs,” she said.

01:02.

“We’re going to have to try,” Swift’s voice was tight. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

The tannoy buzzed again.

“One minute remaining,” the voice said cheerfully. “Tick tock.”

They began dragging Page towards the base of the stairs, Swift moving backwards with Page’s shoulders, whispering encouragements to Page even though he seemed barely conscious, Tink and Annie with his feet.

“Watch his leg. Tink, ease left,” Swift said. “You’ve got it. “

00:27.

The wall timer blinked like a heartbeat. Annie could feel it pulsing in her peripheral vision.

00:12.

They were almost at the bottom of the stairs now.

00:05.

They shifted Page’s body the last metre

00:02.

“Come on,” Swift grunted.

00:00.

A long, heavy beep echoed through the room and then they were plunged into silence. Annie held her breath and for a moment, nothing happened. Then she heard a clunk, followed by a low, mechanical groan. And then a trickle like the sound of a running bath.

Water.

Annie spun, eyes wide, just in time to see a thin stream snaking from the centre of the floor where Page had been lying minutes before. It began as a line, then another joined it, then a third. Within seconds, water was pooling, spreading in a slow, purposeful sheet across the floor.

“What the hell?” Swift started as sparks flared in the corner of the room from a half-concealed panel near the wall. The air crackled, a high-pitched electric whine starting to build.

“Oh my god,” Tink breathed. “They wouldn’t.”

More sparks scattered across the plane of water. The sound of voltage rising, like a scream building in the walls.

“That’s live electricity. They’re going to electrify the floor,” Annie said, heart lurching in panic. “Where Page was lying, that’s where we just⁠—”

“GO!” Swift barked. “Move!”

They hauled Page’s body up onto the first step as the water curled its way towards them. A hiss rose from the flooded floor as more electricity built, the air now thick with static. Tink stumbled, nearly dropping Page’s leg, but Annie caught her elbow and held her steady.

“Up, up, up,” Annie urged. “We have to get clear.”

Beneath them, the water continued to rise and with it came the smell of burning.

Whatever this game was, it wasn’t just about puzzles anymore. It was about survival.

THIRTEEN

They ran as fast as they could up the first few steps as the water started to splash at their heels. Trying to move quickly while keeping Page as steady as possible was nigh on impossible, the strain showing in the beads of sweat trickling down Swift’s temple and the pinkness of Tink’s cheeks. Annie wanted to give everyone words of encouragement but the breath was stolen from her lungs with the effort of carrying her friend.

They paused only when the rising hum of electricity started to give way to silence. But even then, below the room sizzled with an acrid tang that stung the back of Annie’s throat. She tried to swallow it away but her throat was so dry that her tongue stuck with each gulp.

“Stop, can we stop just for a second?” Swift said, panting.

He slowed easing himself to sitting on the stairs, keeping hold of Page and making sure his head didn’t knock against the edges. The DS groaned, head lolling to one side against Swift’s leg. Annie dropped to her knees, checking his pulse in his neck and wrist again. It was thready, but still there.

“We were seconds away,” Tink whispered, voice ragged. She was crouching, Page’s leg held under her arms as she leaned forward, resting her head against the cool wall. “If we hadn’t have gotten to Page in time then he could be dead. What the hell is going on?”

“They might not have released the water,” Swift said sharply, then he lowered his voice and motioned for the others to lean in. “They’re always one step ahead of us. They were waiting for us to get down to Page before they electrocuted the whole place. They could have killed him off before we got there, but that’s not part of their plan. I think this is all still a game to whoever is doing this.”

Annie nodded, her chest tight. Whoever was behind this had planned to kill all of them or at least have the entertainment of watching them trying to escape. That changed everything. They were no longer participants in this hell house, they were targets.

“We need to get him somewhere safe,” Annie said.

Swift looked up at the steep stairs above them. “Let’s try and get him to the top. I am under no illusions that the exit door up there doesn’t lead outside, but at least the floor in that room is flat and will give Page a better chance of recovery.”

Annie nodded grimly, pushing herself to her feet. Together, they shifted Page again, each of them bracing for the climb ahead. Just as they began to move, Swift dipped his chin and motioned for her to get closer. He lowered his voice to a whisper barely above breath.

“The ceiling is fake,” he said, glancing up the stairs. “In the room at the top of these stairs. I spotted it earlier, it’s like office ceiling tiles, suspended. I think I can get up there and get through one of them.”

Annie’s eyes flicked to where he gestured, barely catching the glint of the white polystyrene ceiling tiles as they climbed the stairs.

“If we can create enough of a distraction,” Swift continued, “something to pull their attention just for a minute, I might be able to do it. If I can get out of sight of the cameras that might give me a chance to find out who’s doing this or go and get help”

Annie didn’t respond right away. She could see the plan forming behind his eyes and wanted to scream at him not to leave her. But maybe it was their only chance.

“You really think you can pull yourself up?” she whispered.

Swift cocked his head and even in the stress of the situation, Annie could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Guys,” Tink called up the stairs. “I can’t hear you. I need you to talk to me or my mind is playing tricks on me and making me think you’re in on this whole shitshow.”

“Sorry Tink,” Annie grimaced. “We were just saying we’re nearly there.”

Annie tried to give away what they’d actually been doing but there was no way of miming without being caught by the cameras, and she guessed that sounds were being picked up in most rooms too. It was too risky. Instead, she looked down at her free hand until Tink got the message and looked too. Annie kept her arms at Page’s side and slowly pointed at Swift and then did the universal signal for help. She just hoped Tink would understand her clumsy signing.

For a second, Tink didn’t move. Then she nodded once, her eyes meeting Annie’s and holding her gaze.

“Copy that,” she said finally, loud enough for the cameras.

Annie felt a flicker of relief as they carried on the slow climb, gritting through the weight of Page and the strain on their bodies. They didn’t stop until the narrow staircase gave way to the room at the top where they hovered just inside the doorway, breath heaving.

The perfume scent was long gone, replaced by the fug of electricity still humming in the air.

“Let’s get him down.” Annie motioned to the floor space near the door with the exit sign above.

Swift nodded, and together they carefully lowered Page to the floor, laying him flat. His skin looked waxy under the harsh lights. Annie knelt beside him, easing the twisted sleeve of Swift’s jacket from the wound in his arm and checking how their makeshift bandage had worked. The blood had slowed and started to coagulate at the large opening. Annie had seen knife wounds before, and looking at it closely now, she knew that was what this was. Who would want to slice open Page’s arm? Why?

Swift pulled a crumpled gel sachet from his jeans pocket. He tore it with his teeth and coaxed the end between Page’s lips.

“Is that a good idea if he’s unconscious?” Annie asked. “What if he chokes?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Swift replied. “We need to replace fluids and this is all I have. Given that he’s groaning and responding to outside stimuli, I think this should be okay. I hope.” He turned his attention back to Page. “Come on, mate, help me out here.”

Annie held her breath as Swift squeezed the tube slowly. Page made no sound but his throat bobbed faintly. When the sachet was empty, Swift leaned back, relief flickering in his eyes. Tink slid down beside them with a sigh, her back against the wall. She reached for Page’s hand and held it gently in both of hers, thumb running slow circles across his knuckles.

“You’ve gotta wake up, Tom,” she said, eyes fixed on his pale face. “Seriously. I am not leaving this place without you, you great hulking doofus.”

Annie felt her insides tense, and she took her own sachet from Swift with a thanks. Glad to have something to unstick the dryness from the roof of her mouth and something to concentrate on other than the tears that threatened to explode out of her.

Robins was missing, Evans had been locked away from them. Page was lying at her feet with injuries she had no idea how he’d survived. And now Swift was contemplating leaving on his own to try and get help. It was too much. Annie had been hoping for a fun, brain teasing day with her team and it had fast turned into a nightmare.

She glanced around the room as she sucked at the sweet, sugary gel, all too aware of how exposed they were here. What kind of sick plan did their captor have for them in this room? Was the electrified water still rising? Were the walls about to close in and squash them all? Maybe above the ceiling tiles was a swarm of wasps or spiders just waiting to prey on them. Annie shuddered as she looked around at the suspended ceiling, half expecting a hairy leg to poke out one of the gaps.

And then she saw them, mounted in opposite corners of the ceiling, tucked just beyond the glare of the spotlights. Cameras. There were two of them, both pointing in their direction. One looked to be aimed at the exit door and the other at the stairs they’d just climbed.

Annie caught Swift’s eye and subtly tilted her chin. First to one camera, then the other. Swift followed her gaze and gave a tiny nod, his face shifting back into an unreadable calm she’d come to rely on. She could see the gears turning already, probably calculating angles and blind spots. If Annie was correct, then there was a black spot by the door they’d all fallen through earlier. The one leading back out to the narrow ledge and the stairs to the entrance hallway.

Swift stood slowly, brushing his hands on his trousers as if trying to buy himself a moment. Then he turned to the others.

“I think I should head back to the entrance hall,” he said. “See if there’s another way out.”

Annie’s head snapped up. For a moment, panic flared until she met his eyes and understood that they weren’t going back to the entrance. This was a performance for whoever was watching.

“Okay, I’ll go with you,” she said quickly, and something in her chest loosened. The idea of Swift crawling into that ceiling alone made her sick. At least this way, they could stay together, though the idea of leaving Tink and Page was just as bad. “Tink, will you be okay here with Page?”

Tink’s cheeks pinkened again and Annie could tell she was trying to be brave. Her heart cracked in two.

“I will make sure he’s okay,” Tink nodded, lifting Page’s hand in hers and kissing his knuckles. “But first, shouldn’t we just try the exit door? What if it actually works? What if this is the next test?”

“Good shout,” Swift said, already moving toward the black door beneath the glowing red EXIT sign.

Annie stepped back to let him pass, her pulse quickening. For a second, hope flared so sharp in her chest it was disorienting. Swift gripped the steel handle and yanked. It didn’t move. He tried again, setting his shoulder against the door, rattling the handle, swearing under his breath. Still nothing.

He stepped back, jaw clenched. “It’s locked.”

A speaker above their head crackled and the voice echoed in the room.

“You missed your chance,” it said, and Annie could hear the humour in the words.

“Timing is key,” the voice continued, calm and maddeningly smug. “But maybe not all doors open for everyone.”

Annie turned to the others. Her spine prickled with dread, her mind was already racing ahead. Swift gave her a look.

“Let’s move,” he said.

FOURTEEN

They had made it further than most.

The watcher leaned closer to the screen, eyes scanning the flickering black-and-white feed. The light from the monitors cast a ghostly sheen over their face, highlighting every hollow shadow, every ridge of bone beneath pale skin. Fingers danced across the array of switches, flicking between camera angles—stairwell, the flooded room, the ledge, the entrance. Back to the room with four bodies, still breathing. Just.

"You missed your chance.”

They’d taken the bait beautifully. How predictable they were. Annie with her conscience wound so tight it practically squeaked. Swift, still convinced he could lead them out of this. And Tink, loyal to a fault, dragging a dead weight when she should have been running.

It was almost touching.

One monitor showed the group huddled at the top of the stairs, the unconscious body of Page sprawled between them. He wouldn’t last much longer unless they made a decision. And even then…

The screen blinked again, an irritating flicker that the Watcher reached forward to steady with a gloved finger. Tapping it, the image stabilised with a green-tinged grain resolving into the scene at the top of the stairs. There was something deeply satisfying about watching this all unfold exactly as planned. Months, no, years of preparation. Meticulous detail. A thousand micro-decisions leading to this moment. Every hinge, every light, every corridor mapped out. The Watcher’s past was like a bruise they couldn’t stop pressing and now it was filled with traps.

They smiled, a cold pull at the corner of their mouth. They turned the volume up a fraction, just enough to hear the tension crackling beneath the surface of the player’s words.

Evans had screamed when it had happened. He’d made a noise, something wet and strange, like the bark of a deer. Then nothing. His silence had been impressive.

Robins? Robins had been surprising.

The watcher let out a cackle and turned back to the screen. Annie was kneeling beside Page, pressing a jacket against his arm again. His legs were gone. Not gone, but twisted and swollen and weeping red through his trousers. They’d saved him, yes, but what had they really saved?

Sometimes survival was the real cruelty. Well, time would tell. Not that they had much time left.

FIFTEEN

“Are you sure about this?” Tink asked, her voice wobbling as much as her bottom lip was. “I don’t like the idea of us splitting up again. It’s not ended well for us so far.”

Annie crouched beside her, brushing the hair from Page’s clammy forehead. She felt awful at the idea of leaving Tink so vulnerable with Page who had no way of defending himself.

“Why don’t you go with Swift? I’ll stay here with Page, instead.”

“No way,” Tink said fiercely, jutting out her chin. “I’m not leaving him. I’m… I’m just scared.”

Annie nodded, then leaned in and gave her a gentle hug. “Me too, Tink. Me too. But I promise you that we will find a way out of here and we will get Page help.”

“You’d better.” Tink said, the ghost of a smile on her face. “He’s annoying, but he’s my best friend.”

Despite looking like he’d done ten rounds with a heavy weight, Swift cleared his throat and gave Tink a raised brow.

“Don’t worry, guv,” Tink said, smiling. “You’re still second best.” She crumpled her brow. “Actually, maybe third now, given Ben’s on the scene.”

Swift squeezed Tink’s shoulder and squatted down beside Annie.

“We’ll keep talking as though we’re heading out to the ledge,” he whispered. “Try to stall whoever is watching. I have no idea if it will work, but I don’t think we have any other choice.” He straightened up and ruffled Tink’s hair, then added, louder for the cameras, “not sure how I feel about being relegated for a man with hair as luxurious as Ben’s. It feels like a double kick in the teeth.”

“You’ll be okay, guv,” Tink laughed. “Maybe you can start combing your fringe over to hide the bald bits.”

That made Annie snort. Swift had the thickest head of hair possible, but he still ran a hand through it to double check it was still all there. He looked back at Annie and gave the tiniest nod. It was time. Annie stood, hilarities all but forgotten, her pulse thick in her ears.

“Okay, O’Malley,” Swift said, pitching his voice just loud enough, “if the ledge is still safe, we double back around as quickly and safely as we can, and see what’s going on in the entrance hallway. We can try and get our phones back or see if there is any way out.”

“Copy that,” Annie said, catching on to his tone. “Tink, stay safe.”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Swift added. “Until then, you’re in charge. You can tell Page I said that when he wakes up.”

Swift made his way to the wall behind the cameras, he opened the door to the ledge, just a few inches, then motioned for Annie to follow. She did, her heart pounding as Swift ignored the open door and looked up to the ceiling. It hung lower than the ceilings in the ornate living room and bedroom they’d been in. This lobby felt more like an office building or pre-fab student dorm. He reached up and pressed both sets of fingers to the polystyrene tile above his head. He waited and Annie could see the way his chest rose and fell erratically until, over time, it began to move slower, more controlled. When it settled, he pushed, lifting his weight onto his tiptoes.

The tile gave way with a dry scritch, then lifted just enough for him to get a hand inside. Annie wasn’t breathing, she stood as still as possible, trying not to move the air around her incase the noises gave them away.

The motion of the tile shifted its weight and the whole thing tipped dangerously, teetering on Swift’s fingers. Swift froze. Annie froze. In the stillness Annie could hear the whirr and buzz of the cameras capturing the footage just millimetres away from them. She had to do something.

“Swift’s lace has come undone,” she called back over to Tink, hoping her words would cover the sound of their escape. “He can’t cross that ledge with a loose lace. We’ll head out in a second. How’s Page doing?”

“Okay,” Tink replied. “Don’t worry, we’re not going anywhere.”

The tears in Tink’s eyes made Annie’s throat close and she wanted to run to the sergeants and stay huddled with them until help arrived. They worked for a police force, surely word would get out if they didn’t come back to work. She shook her head, knowing that by that time it would already be too late for Page, if not for the rest of them too.

Looking back up, Annie’s heart lurched up her chest as the tile slipped from Swift’s fingers. She winced, ducking slightly. If the tile fell it would land front and centre of the camera and there would be no doubt that whoever was watching them would know what they were doing. And with no way to get Page out they would be trapped.

Swift stretched as far as he could, steadying the tile with one palm and easing it upward with the other. It shifted quietly back through the gap in the grid and with one great shove he slid it up and over the tiles around it. They all held their breath. Waiting for a clatter or for the tile to fall through the ceiling. Annie could hear nothing but the beat of her own heart, racing inside her chest. The panic of the falling tile had set off claws of claustrophobia scraping at her insides. It had been hours since she last saw the sky and she had no idea what the time was or when she would get out. The air felt thin, like there wasn’t enough oxygen to go around. What if the house was sealed? What if they were slowly running out of air?

Annie gulped hard. Trying to fill her lungs but she couldn’t get them to expand far enough. Her fingers started to tremble and her vision blurred at the edges. Swift turned and caught her just in time.

“Hey,” he said gently, placing one hand on her arm, the other at the small of her back. “Breathe with me. In. Out. Come on, O’Malley. You’re alright.”

Annie squeezed her eyes shut. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded like a war drum.

Swift lowered his forehead to hers. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “We’re still in the game. Breathe with me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, painfully, the world tilted back into place. Her breath returned in short, ragged gasps.

“Okay,” she managed. “Okay, I’m good, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Right,” he whispered. “Now we climb.”

The wall offered little to work with, there was no furniture and no fixtures. Swift crouched low, sprang upward, and grabbed the metal grid with both hands. The whole ceiling groaned under his weight and Tink coughed loudly to cover the noise. Annie watched on as his feet scrabbled against the plasterboard wall and he shoved off it, elbow hooked around the grid above, pulling with everything he had. Annie braced herself underneath, her hands half-raised in case he fell. With a grunt, Swift disappeared into the ceiling.

“Okay,” came his voice and a few seconds later his face appeared in the gap. He reached down, both arms extended.

Annie stepped back, sucked in one last deep breath, and launched herself upward. His hands caught hers. Their fingers locked and he yanked, using every muscle in his upper body to haul her up. Annie’s elbows caught the metal frame and she winced as she felt it scrape painfully at her skin.

“Almost there,” Swift whispered. “Can you get purchase?”

With one final surge, she swung her leg up and over the edge, twisting her body sideways until she collapsed into the crawlspace with a muted thud beside him. Her chest heaved with effort as she exhaled and wiped her hands on her thighs.

They lay there, panting in the dust until they knew they were going to be okay. The voice hadn’t returned to shout at them or tell them to get down. Annie had no doubt that they would have been given a count down to some sort of doom if the person watching them knew what they were up to.

She blinked into the dark as her eyes adjusted to the new surroundings. There was something oddly comforting about the normality of the pipes and wires and ancient insulation. Though whoever had built Keyhouse had done so with precision, they needed the regular fittings to carry electricity and water and whatever else houses needed.

Swift shifted first, propping himself on one elbow and brushing a layer of insulation dust from his chest.

“You good?” he whispered.

Annie nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She wiped the dirt that had stuck to her scraped arms, then pushed herself up into a crouch. The ceiling space wasn’t tall enough to stand up in, it was barely high enough to crouch, but it stretched further than she’d expected. Beyond the metal framework for the suspended ceiling was a narrow lane of wooden beams and low-hung ductwork disappearing in both directions. Between the joists, occasional gaps gave glimpses of the rooms below. From this vantage point, the house felt even more like a movie set.

Swift reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny LED torch from his keyring. He clicked it on and cupped the beam with his palm to stop it from spilling light through the ceiling tiles.

“Which way?” he asked.

Annie hesitated, then tilted her head. “If we follow the direction we came from, we might reach the entrance hallway. If we can get down the side of that room maybe we can find the back of the locker.”

“Good thinking,” Swift said, nodding. “That means getting down a floor too, though.”

“Stairwell?” she pointed in the opposite direction, where the crawlspace narrowed and dipped slightly, “Or do we go around the room with the ledge and see if the main stairs are accessible from above?”

“God, they’re all such appealing options,” Swift said with a crooked grin.

Annie smirked despite the dread coiled in her chest. “Yeah, it’s like picking your favourite way to die.”

Swift angled the torch toward the wider section of the crawlspace that stretched above the ledge room and curved left, where the main stairwell was.

“I say we go over the ledge room,” he said. “Try for the main staircase. If it’s blocked, we double back.”

Annie nodded. “Lead the way.”

They shuffled forward, slowly and as quietly as they could. The crawl was tight, their limbs brushing insulation and cold copper piping. Every movement sent soft creaks through the structure, and Annie winced each time her trainers nudged a loose screw or knocked a sliver of tile.

“How long do you think we have?” she whispered.

“Until they realise we’re not heading back through that door? Five minutes, maybe less.”

Annie nodded grimly. They had to move fast but a single misstep could drop them into the wrong room, or worse, alert whoever was watching as to where they were. They kept going as quickly and quietly as they could. A few metres in, the temperature changed and the air grew cooler and fresher. Annie could feel it shift on her skin, like maybe they were near an outside vent.

“Swift,” she started.

“I know, I feel it too,” Swift replied.

Relief flooded through Annie with the fresh air through her lungs. She glanced down, just about able to make out the ledge room through a gap in the beams.

“Swift,” she hissed. “Look, the water has stopped.”

He stopped and twisted carefully, eyes meeting hers.

She pointed through the gap in the beams to the room below the ledge room where they’d seen Page lying, what felt like an age ago. The water had stoped rising and was a pool of glistening sparks that look about a foot deep.

“That’s good,” Swift whispered back. At least we know Page and Tink aren’t at risk of being electrocuted now.”

“Not by the water, anyway,” Annie added, grimly.

They both peered down again, minds reeling, when Annie caught sight of movement through the open door to the main stairs.

“Joe.”

Swift gave a quick nod and held his finger to his lips. It was a figure. Far below, almost obscured by the beams and the doorway. Annie couldn’t make out the face, all she could see was the way its slightness moved deftly across the landing. It definitely wasn’t Evans and as far as Annie could tell, it wasn’t Robins either, though she did try to squint to double check. But the figure turned and disappeared down the main staircase.

“Who was that?” Annie whispered.

Swift’s voice was barely audible. “I don’t know. Let’s move, quickly.”

They crawled on until the passage opened slightly, revealing a broader section above the landing at the top of the main staircase. It looked like a junction, a place where several ceiling cavities intersected. There were more pipes here, a large air duct, and what looked like the back of an access hatch. They both went still again as a sound drifted up through the floor below them. It was footsteps. Then a door closed. Whoever was down there hadn’t gone far.

SIXTEEN

The figure slipped out of sight, but the danger didn’t.

Up in the ceiling, every movement suddenly felt amplified. The shift of an elbow, the flex of a knee. Every creak from the joists sounded like a gun shot to Annie. She didn’t dare whisper. One wrong sound, one wrong move, and whoever was beneath them would know exactly where they were.

Swift met her eyes, and she could read it plain on his face: We need to keep moving. He shifted his weight with surgical precision, placing his hands and knees where the beams looked strongest, avoiding the thin spots of ceiling that dipped too easily under pressure. Annie followed, mimicking his movements, her palms slick with sweat despite the ever-decreasing temperature.

The crawlspace above the main staircase widened into a shallow junction where the ceiling beams intersected. Swift kept his torch low, its beam reduced to a sliver cupped in his palm.

“This way,” he whispered, nodding toward the narrower offshoot that veered left, running parallel to the outer wall of the house.

Annie followed without speaking. Her elbows were sore from catching herself on the frame earlier, her knees throbbed from the constant pressure, and she was fairly sure there was a cobweb glued to her eyebrow. She just hoped that the resident spider was long gone because if that started to crawl down her face then the whole of Norfolk would know where Annie was.

The further on they got the fresher the air became. And there was a hint of movement to it, too. Not much, just enough to stir the curls that leapt away from her forehead.

She tapped Swift’s calf as he shuffled in front of her. “Do you feel that?”

“Yeah,” he replied, shifting onto his elbows. “I’m hoping there might be a vent or something up ahead.”

Hope blossomed eagerly in Annie’s chest and she crawled with more gusto at the idea they might have a means to escape. But the further they crawled, the tighter the space started to become. With every metre forward, the walls encroached tightly on their limbs. The wall to their right was rougher now, brick and crumbling plaster, as though they’d reached the edge of the house’s structure. Despite the ever narrowing route, that had to be a good sign.

A noise stopped them both cold in their tracks. It was a soft, repetitive tapping. Three long dots, three short.

Annie tensed. “What is that?”

Swift shook his head slowly. “It sounds like someone’s knocking, do you think?”

They stared at each other, the silence between them amplifying every beat. Annie knew without saying it that Swift was thinking the same as she was. It was Robins or Evans calling for help. The repetitive knocks were the universal morse code for SOS. Maybe the rest of the team were okay.

“Do you think it’s safe to check out?” Annie said. “If we’re really careful.”

“We have to try.” Swift was on the move again.

They shuffled forward, the sound of their clothes rasping against the rough surfaces felt deafening in the confined silence, but the tapping continued. Three long. Three short. Three long.

Every inch forward made the space feel more like a coffin. Annie’s shoulders grazed the brick now, and her elbows scraped against insulation that crackled like dead leaves underneath her. Dust clung to her throat as they rounded a corner where the crawlspace dipped again. The noise was louder now. It sounded as though it was coming from right up ahead of them, but instead of opening up, the space abruptly ended. Swift stopped so fast Annie nearly bumped into his backside.

“Shit,” he hissed, the beam from his torch barely lighting the plastered surface that had brought their progress to a halt.

A blank panel of old wallboard, discoloured with damp and age.

Swift growled under his breath, a sound born of frustration. “It can’t be a dead end.”

“Looks like it might be,” Annie whispered. “Maybe the sound’s coming from below us?”

She turned slightly, trying to see if there was a hatch or gap beneath, but Swift raised a hand.

“Wait.” He placed his palm against the plasterboard and knocked once.

It gave. Not much, just the slightest shift, but enough for his brow to furrow.

“What is it?” Annie asked.

This time he pressed with the heel of his hand, gently at first, then harder. The plasterboard flexed. His fingers found a weak point near the edge and he pushed. The panel creaked, then tilted forward on its own. Behind it, dust swirled like fog, lit by a faint shaft of grey light. Swift reached through and shone his torch. An old vent grille sat about a foot away, set into the sloped brick. It was rusted and bent at the top corner, the slight breeze rattling a loose fan blade like the morse code. Annie’s heart dropped at the realisation it wasn’t one of their team. But as the light caught on thick dust and flared against the triangular angle where the roof dipped sharply, she saw that beneath it, an old wooden window sat cracked open, a sliver of the outside world visible through the grime-streaked glass.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed. “That’s a window. That’s actual daylight.”

“O’Malley,” he said. “There’s a way out.”

Hope flared so bright in Annie’s chest she nearly laughed. Swift gave her a crooked grin over his shoulder, but it was taut at the edges, like he didn’t quite trust the luck.

“Alright. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He started clearing the space around the broken plasterboard, careful not to let the panel clatter down. Annie kept her ears tuned on what was going on behind them both. The tapping had faded now she knew what it was, but there was light, and the whisper of air that smelled like rain.

Swift braced his knees against the narrow crawlspace walls and gave the plasterboard one final shove. It gave with a soft crack and peeled away from its frame. Annie sucked in a breath, waiting for the crash, but it never came as Swift lurched forward and grabbed it before it fell down into the dark below. He lowered the board slowly, Annie could see the muscles in his back working overtime through his shirt. They rippled with the effort of not letting the board slip away from him.

“Come on, it’s not safe to stay still,” Swift whispered, twisting his body and easing forward over the lowered board.

He moved like a cat slinking through undergrowth, keeping low to avoid the sloped ceiling. Annie followed into a dank space where the brick was colder and green from old condensation. She dragged herself on her elbows, hips scraping against the narrowing crawlspace until she reached the lip of the gap and saw the vent up close for the first time.

It was bigger than she’d thought, maybe two feet wide and a foot tall, the grille bars thick with rust and bent at one corner where the brick had crumbled slightly. The air drifting through smelled faintly of warm rain and woodland. She crouched beside Swift, as he slipped his torch between his teeth to hold it steady.

“If we can loosen this corner,” he said though gritted teeth, “we might be able to slip past.”

Annie nodded, eyes still on the thin shaft of daylight visible through the slanted window beyond. “I can almost taste freedom.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warned, though his voice was lighter than before. “This place reminds me of that creepy old spa we stayed at, do you remember?”

“You make it sound like we were on holiday. Was that the case with the murderer on the loose?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Hard to forget,” Annie snorted.

Swift reached forward to test the loose vent corner. It shifted under his grip with a loud creak.

“Actually,” he went on, bending the grille back with slow, gritted effort, his knuckles scraped and bleeding from the rusted edge, “maybe it’s more like that bloody magician’s cupboard I got locked in. Small and dark and really rather scary.”

“You made it out of that okay,” she said, noticing the thin line of red on his knuckles. “And we’ve been in plenty of places and faced plenty of people who are just as scary as this is. We got out of those and we can get out of Keyhouse.”

A memory fluttered in Annie’s mind, one of large houses and plasterboard rooms, but she still couldn’t quite grasp at it fully. It was coming back though, only a matter of time before she remembered what the heck it was this place reminded her of.

“Debatable.” Swift replied, and Annie was going to have a go at his negativity when the grille gave a sudden wrenching sound and came loose in his hands.

He caught it before it hit the floor, wincing as the metal bit into his palms. Annie reached forwards and helped him with the weight. Together, they set it quietly aside and peered through the gap.

The slanted attic space beyond was full of dust motes and shadows. Annie guessed it was the front of the house, where the gable was lower than the roof. The window was just a few feet away now. The grime made it difficult to see through, but that slice of pale light was undeniably daylight. Freedom, or at least the illusion of it.

“Ready?” Swift whispered.

Annie nodded. “Let’s get out of this bloody awful house.”

They wriggled through the vent hole one after the other, Swift going first, easing down into the sloped attic space beyond. Annie followed, feet scraping against the rough brick as she slid awkwardly behind him. It was colder here, weirdly as the air outside was still August warm. But it was the kind of cold that felt forgotten, like this part of the house hadn’t been touched in decades. The walls narrowed into a point just beneath the roof where the insulation had shredded above the slanted wooden window. It was cracked open at the bottom corner, a breeze whispering through the gap.

Swift approached it slowly, careful of the boards beneath their feet. One wrong step and they could plunge through the ceiling into the entrance hall below. And that would be a long drop onto marble. Annie edged nearer, taunted by the scent of freedom through the window. She stepped up beside Swift and gulped in the air. Staring at the darkening sky outside and the green tops of the trees swaying in the car park.

Then a shape moved in the lower periphery of her vision. It was just a blur, a shadow beyond the grime, but it was tall, human-shaped, and heading away from Keyhouse. She flattened herself instinctively, dragging Swift down with her.

“Did you see that?” she hissed.

“I saw it,” he whispered back, already switching off the torch. “Who was that?”

“Could it be one of them?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “But whoever it is, if they saw us we need to get out of here and we need to do it fast.”

They crouched in silence, backs to the brick, the open vent behind them still breathing dust. Annie pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow the frantic thump of her heart. Her thoughts raced. Was it their captor? Another player in the game?

She twisted and leaned back up, her hands clasped to the windowsill, as she peered over the edge. The figure stepped away from the shadows and looked up at the front of the house, a hand to their brow to shield the setting sun. Now she could make out more. Jeans, a hoody, the hood pulled up to cover the rest of their face. They hesitated then turned, just slightly, and the light caught on something familiar.

For a moment, Annie didn’t believe it. She blinked, expecting the shadow to shift again, to become something else. But the longer she stared, the more the truth burned through her panic.

“It’s Ben,” she hissed.

“What?” Swift said, having to lower his voice. “Are you sure?”

Annie nodded slowly, disbelieving. “I know that face.”

Ben Harebell. Tink’s plus one who had been called away at the last minute was outside the house. He looked up and scanned the windows and the roof. Then he stopped, his head tilted slightly, as if he was listening to something. Before turning and disappearing around the side of the house.

Annie ducked from the window, heart thundering. “What the hell is he doing?”

Swift’s jaw clenched. “Wait until I get my hands on him, the little shit.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“I don’t like this,” Annie whispered. “He said he was called away at the last minute. That was the story, right?”

Swift nodded grimly.

Annie’s stomach dropped. “You think he’s in on it?”

“I think,” Swift said, eyes hard, “we need to find him. And fast.”

SEVENTEEN

Where are they?

They should have moved by now. The trap was set. The route had been laid with surgical precision. They were supposed to go back through the room with the narrow ledge. Back to the stairs. Through the door in the entrance hallway and right into the hands of the Watcher.

Everything had been accounted for. Every variable and possible detour. The dangers had been manipulated to draw them back to the starting point, the route rigged with all the subtle nudges and tricks that always worked. Take them to the dining room where their final fate awaited.

But the screen was empty. The static-fed image showed nothing but pale walls and an open door. The Watcher leaned in, fingers hovering over the keys, eyes locked on the grainy footage as though they could will the shapes to appear. The lens was trained perfectly on the room’s two exits. If someone passed through, they would see it. But no one came.

Players always followed the path that was written for them. That was the whole point; fear drove obedience. Panic narrowed choice. The practice runs had shown The Watcher that human behaviour was nothing if not predictable. That had been the whole point of the other players going first. No room for error. Not for the final show.

But this? This was not going according to plan. The Watcher toggled to another feed, then another. Each one displayed the same unsettling stillness. Apart from the two sitting ducks in the lobby at the top of the stairs, it seems as though the MCU were hiding or gone altogether. But that couldn’t be right? There was nowhere to go other than the well planned-out route to their demise.

It was what they deserved, after all. Perhaps not Evans and Robins, they had been an inconvenience. Collateral damage. But that was always the risk in these things. And it wasn’t the first time the Watcher had needed to remove someone who was getting in the way.

It was their modus operandi.

They laughed, the sound brittle and echoing in the media room, bouncing back at them from the wall of blank-eyed monitors.

The players couldn’t be gone, that was impossible. They had to be in the house. They couldn’t have escaped, there was no exit. A sharp flush of heat rose in their throat. That wasn’t how this worked. Unless—no, there was no unless. There was no margin for improvisation. Every vent had been sealed, every access point locked, every window fake.

Their disobedience was dangerous. More than that, it was offensive. Because if the game fell apart now, it wouldn’t just be them at risk, it would be everything. The years of planning. The silence endured. The Watcher had built a world in here. And now it was slipping through their fingers.

They were meant to suffer. They were meant to learn.

A thin string of frustration tightened between the Watcher's shoulders. And somewhere behind that, something darker. Not fear, never fear. But fury. The kind that burned quiet and deep and righteous. The kind that didn’t care who it destroyed.

EIGHTEEN

Where the hell had he come from?

Annie peered down through the cracked window, her cheek pressed to the cool glass. The figure below stood at the far edge of the grounds now, close enough to the trees to vanish if he stepped backward, but just visible through the gap in the grime-caked glass. He hadn’t seen them, but it looked like he was scanning the house for signs of someone.

“What the hell is he doing?” Swift’s voice was a murmur behind her, his breath brushing her shoulder.

“He’s looking for something.” Annie shook her head slowly. “It’s definitely Ben, though. I swear to God, it’s him.”

He may have been dressed in dark jeans and a grey hoodie with the hood up, half his face in shadow. But when he tilted his head, squinting against the low sun and raising a hand to shield his eyes, she saw his unmistakable jawline and scruffy stubble she remembered.

“Why?” Swift asked, edging closer to get a look for himself. “He seemed like such a good guy.”

Ben was holding something. He lifted it to his mouth, said something, then looked back up at the house again.

“He’s communicating with someone,” Swift muttered. “Maybe coordinating. Maybe he’s realised we’ve gone missing.”

“He can’t be,” Annie said, quickly. “That doesn’t make sense. Tink said he got called away last minute, he was supposed to be a part of this.”

“Exactly. Supposed to be, but not anymore. So why is he skulking around like he doesn’t want to be seen?”

Annie’s heart thudded. “Maybe he’s here to help us.”

“He doesn’t know we need help. Think about it, Tink hasn’t messaged him since this morning, he’d have no way of knowing what was going on here, unless he was a part of it. We have no way of communicating, you saw what happened when Tink forgot her Tile was in her pocket. How did he even know we were here?”

She looked at Swift sharply. “It just doesn’t seem real. You think he’s in on it?”

“I think I don’t trust him,” Swift said. “We hardly know him.”

Annie swallowed. “Why though?”

“I have no idea.”

Still, a part of Annie clung tightly to her doubt. Ben had been nothing but polite, shy even, when the team had met him after their last case. There was no reason to believe he was involved in something like this. But then again, Annie had been duped before. Despite her work as a psychotherapist, she knew sociopathic behaviour was easy to camouflage to start with. She had to work with someone for a while for the traits to start showing.

“We can’t stay here,” Swift said. “If Ben is doing this to us, or he is working with whoever set this up, we’re sitting ducks. There’s a reason he’s looking up at the facade of the house, he must know the weak spots.”

“But if he’s not the one to blame,” Annie countered, “then we’re wasting a bloody good chance to get help. We could smash the glass and drop down to get help.”

They crouched back from the window, sitting in the narrow crawl space, knees touching, torch cupped in Swift’s palm for minimal light.

“No.” Swift shook his head. “For a start, if Ben or whoever else is doing this hears the glass breaking they’ll know where we are. That puts Tink and Page at a greater risk. Not to mention Evans and Robins. And it’s too far down.”

“So what do we do?” she asked, ready to shimmy down a drainpipe if that’s what it took. But Swift was right, leaving now would mean dire consequences for the rest of the MCU.

Swift rubbed the back of his neck. “We talk to Tink? See what she says about the possibility her new man is a raging psychopath.”

Annie nodded. “We put it in nicer terms than that, though, yeah?”

Swift grunted. The crawlspace around them was growing stiflingly close with two bodies in it. No matter that those two bodies were Annie and Swift.

“Back the way we came, then?” Swift took a breath.

Annie didn’t want to think about heading back. It seemed counter productive when they’d gotten this far. But they needed to check what Tink really knew about Ben, whether she thought he had it in him to build a house of horrors and trap the MCU inside. It was all so ridiculous that Annie couldn’t quite believe it. Part of her wanted to get back to the lobby and be greeted by workers full of apologies for the malfunctioning escape room. To be reunited with Evans and Robins and let out into the fading light to a boyfriend of Tink’s who was just here because he missed her barrage of texts. But that didn’t seem overly realistic either. What man turned up at his girlfriend’s work do because she’d stopped texting? A weird, love-bombing narcissist, that’s who.

Annie tried not to think too hard about what was happening to them and shifted her weight to start to follow Swift back the way they came. Dust fell in soft puffs as they crawled, inch by inch, over the warped beams. The silence between them stretched until Swift gave a giggle. Annie figured he had gone a bit mad by the surroundings and couldn’t blame him.

“What’s funny?” she whispered.

He gave a quiet laugh, looking back over his shoulder at her. “I’m scared out of my mind. But I’m really bloody glad I’m in here with you.”

She cocked her head slightly, surprised.

“Seriously,” he said, voice low and honest. “If I was going to get locked in a booby-trapped nightmare house by a psychopath, there’s no one I’d rather do it with.”

Annie felt something warm press behind her ribs. “That’s the most messed-up compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Well, I mean it.”

Annie smiled despite herself, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in the dark. She was about to say something in return when Swift turned his head forward again.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s find a way back to Tink and Page. Even if she doesn’t have any answers about Ben, we can try and get them both up here to safety.”

The crawlspace widened as they moved, the low roof rising up around them. They were directly above the entrance hall now, Annie recognised the space through the slats under her blistered palms

Nearly there.

Swift stopped suddenly, pressing his hand flat against the wooden beam ahead.

“What is it?” Annie whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just held up a hand and pointed down through a slim gap in the boards. She shuffled beside him and peered through the slats to see a glimpse of movement. A long, fluid shadow passed silently across the floor below. Annie held her breath. Back by the window she’d felt safe enough to relax a little, that she was no longer trapped in, but could escape through the glass if she’d smashed it and found a way down. And maybe if they all went back, they could do that and somehow get Page to safety too. But back in the confines of the house she knew they were in danger.

Swift turned to her, mouth open, but before he could speak, the sound came. A creak of beams behind them. And it was close. Annie froze, her limbs prickled with dread. She didn’t want to turn around and see what was there.

“Did you—” she began.

“I heard it,” Swift said tightly.

The creak came again, unmistakable now. A shift of weight on timber. Something was in the crawlspace with them. Swift killed the torch with a snap, plunging them into darkness and they crouched, side by side, not breathing. The boards behind them groaned and Annie’s heart beat like a war drum as a low whisper slid across the beams. They were being followed.

“Go.” Swift moved first, crawling low and fast, keeping his elbows tight to his sides. Annie followed, the sound so close now it felt like it clawed at her skin.

They bolted through the crawlspace as quickly as they could, banging their knees on joists and skimming their scalps on the rough ceilings above them. They reached the junction above the entrance hallway.

“Which way?” Annie hissed.

Swift shook his head. “I don’t⁠—”

A new sound cut through the stillness. Not the whisper or the creak this time, but a clatter that sounded almost metallic.

“This way,” she hissed, lunging left.

They crawled fast past the entrance and through to the room with the ledge, unable to look down or stay quiet, their game was up, someone else already knew they were here so speed was their best bet now.

Annie reached the gap in the ceiling tiles first. She peeked down, making sure there was no one else around, except Page and Tink.

Swift dropped down beside her. “This is it.”

“Yes, come on,” she mouthed, and he nodded.

Together, they slipped down to the lobby below. It was an awkward descent, Annie’s hands braced to stop any noise, but they made it, crouching as they landed just inside the main space behind the angle of the camera.

Tink’s eyes widened as she saw them.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered. Her face was streaked with tears, her hair scraped back from her forehead with sweat. “Well? What happened, what did you find?”

Annie opened her mouth to answer then heard a thud from overhead, followed by the faintest shuffle of feet on the ceiling tiles above. They turned slowly, collectively, to the gap in the ceiling where Annie and Swift had dropped moments earlier.

Feet appeared and Annie’s blood turned cold. She glanced sideways at Swift, who met her look with grim understanding. Whoever had followed them in the crawl space had found them.

NINETEEN

The feet dangled for a moment, silhouetted in the ceiling gap. Then the legs bent, knees compressing, and the body dropped into the room. Annie tensed, breath locked in her throat. She didn’t know whether to run or brace for impact. But when the stranger landed with a grunt, a soft curse following, and the figure pushed to standing, Annie saw it wasn’t a stranger at all.

“Jesus Christ,” Annie whispered, her body releasing all at once, like her bones had turned to string.

“What the heck is going on?”

“Robins?” Swift called. “Oh my god, what happened to you. Wait. Don’t move.”

Robins straightened, swaying slightly on the spot so she didn’t move. Her hair was matted to her temple, a dried trail of blood crusted near her eyebrow, the side of her vest top torn.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Tink clapped a hand over her mouth, sobbing.

“I’ve been better,” Robins whispered, her voice cracking. “But yeah. Okay, I guess.” She scanned the room as if not quite believing what she saw. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s so good to see you too,” Swift replied, quietly. “But we need to be careful about who knows you’re back. Those cameras above us are pointing away from you, so they can’t see you right now, but they are listening, Ma’am.”

“Oh Lordy, Swift,” Robins interrupted. “Look at me, please call me Hannah. Or Robins.”

Swift looked at his feet, then back up at their boss. Annie saw a wash of something cover his face—guilt maybe, confusion, disbelief—but it was gone before she could work out what it was.

“Right, sorry Robins,” he said. “But, we don’t want whoever it is doing this to know you’re okay. So we need to be careful about how loud we are and where you stand in case they’re watching.”

“Oh, they’re watching alright.”

“What do you mean?” Swift asked. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Robins said, her face hardening. “All I can remember is that when the lights went out someone pushed me backwards really hard down the lift shaft. Really bloody painful, too. I must have been knocked out when I fell.”

“Shit,” Swift whistled through his teeth.

“You fell down the lift shaft?” Annie echoed, the word hitting hard. “I thought the lift was in the room with us.”

“Yeah,” Robins said. “At least I think so. Someone just pushed me and I fell a pretty long way down, maybe the lift floor was open, I don’t know. Next thing I know I’m face down in a crawlspace with another goose egg on my head.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Annie said quickly. “I just... we thought you were gone.”

“Yeah, well. So did I.” Robins gave a grim smile.

Tink gripped at Page’s hand, her voice trembling. “Did you see anyone? The person running this?”

Robins shook her head. “Not really. I think they thought I was dead too or why would they have just left me? I climbed right up the lift shaft as far as I could, past the actual lift, and found myself in the attic.”

Swift ran a hand through his hair. “You scared the hell out of us.”

“Back at you,” Robins said. “I thought I was alone up there and then I heard movement. I did try and tap out morse code but then thought better of it. Thought whoever it was was about to come back and finish the job. Who the hell is doing this?”

“Yeah, about that,” Annie said, glancing at Swift. “We need to talk.”

Robins followed her gaze. “What?”

Annie took a deep breath and started to whisper. “There’s a window up in the attic space at the front of the house. We saw someone outside looking for us.”

“What?” Tink said sharply. “Who?”

“Did you recognised him?” Robins asked.

Annie nodded slowly. “It was Ben.”

Tink blinked, like the name didn’t register. “Ben...?”

“Your Ben,” Annie said gently. “Your boyfriend.”

Silence dropped like a guillotine.

Tink stared at her. “No. No way. He’s not even here. He told me he couldn’t come. He got called into work.”

Annie hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m bloody sure,” Tink snapped, but there was panic behind it. “He’s not the type to lie about something like that. He—he would’ve told me.”

Robins glanced between them. “How well do you know him, Tink?”

“Well enough to know there’s no way he’d do something like this. Maybe he’s looking for us,” Tink whispered. “Maybe he knew something was wrong and came to help.”

“But how would he know?” Swift said. “There’s been no communication since we got here.”

Robins narrowed her eyes. “Unless he was in on it from the start.”

“No,” Tink said, hugging her knees to her chest. “Absolutely not. Ben wouldn’t—he’s not—he’s a bloody auctioneer, he barely knows how to use a screwdriver, let alone design a house of horrors like this. You didn’t see him, it wasn’t him.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie said softly. “I wish that were true.”

A thick silence settled over them. Annie could see Tink’s hands shaking around Page’s and went to sit down next to her. She leaned in, feeling the cool, dampness of her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, not quite sure what else to do. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Tink sniffed, but didn’t move away from Annie’s warmth. “I don’t believe Ben would do this. Literally, why?”

“Whoever is to blame, we need to move,” Robins said finally. “Wait… where’s Evans?”

Annie and Swift exchanged a grim look.

“We don’t know.” Swift paced the room, not looking explicitly at Robins, just glancing in her general direction. “He got trapped in a room past the… it was another study and then a corridor. God, this place has sent my sense of direction right out the window.”

“Probably because there aren’t any,” Annie joked.

Swift snorted. “Yeah, probably. Right, we need a plan and we need to get Page out of here.”

They all turned to look at the sergeant still lying beside Tink. He was pale and still, his breathing was shallow, mouth slack.

“What happened to him?” Robins asked.

“He fell,” Tink hiccuped back tears. “Look behind you.”

Robins turned and looked out the door still ajar to the room with the ledge. Her face crumpled.

“Into the water?”

“No,” Annie shook her head. “That wasn’t there when he fell. He landed on concrete.”

“The water arrived later,” Tink interrupted. “Then they electrocuted it.”

“What?” Robins looked like she was going to be sick.

“Yeah.” Annie nodded.

“Yeah,” Tink agreed.

“Shit, well even more reason to get out of here as quickly as possibly. I thought falling down a lift shaft was an accident. But what if they’re actively trying to hurt us?” Her brow twitched. “Wait, what about when you got a paper cut, Tink. Remember, on Dracula? Or your fingers got snapped in that mouse trap. What if those were all deliberate?”

Tink looked down and pulled the sleeves of Annie’s borrowed jacket tighter over her wrists, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“Tink?” Swift said, catching the shift in her expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want to make a fuss.” She hesitated. “But, I think something’s wrong.”

She lifted out her hand and turned it over. On the tip of her forefinger, was the paper cut she’d gotten during the first puzzle. Only now it didn’t look like a paper cut at all. The skin around it had swelled, darkened to angry shades of green and purple. Bruising radiating outwards, with a line of inky black tracing toward her palm. The cut itself was red-rimmed and weeping a thin yellow fluid. The whole patch looked hot and livid. Infected didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Oh my god,” Annie whispered.

“Shit,” Swift breathed. “Tink, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought it was just a scratch!” she said, her voice cracking. “But then I started feeling dizzy, and cold, and my chest feels weird. I thought it was just panic. I didn’t want to worry you all, not when we had so much else going on.”

“Jesus, that’s not panic,” Robins said, peering at the wound from over by the door. “It looks necrotic. You’ve been poisoned, Tink. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Tink said weakly. “Would they?”

“They electrocuted water with one of our team unconscious in it,” Swift said flatly. “So yeah, I think they probably would.”

Annie leaned closer. “It must have been deliberate. Maybe the paper edges were treated with something. That would explain why you started to go downhill so quickly. Oh my god, do you guys remember what the voice on the gramophone said?”

Tink shook her head vigorously.

“That we needed to solve the puzzle before the day ends or we’ll meet the same fate as Greybriar. Do you think this is still part of their sick game? That we’re all going to die anyway, even though we worked out what happened to him? It’s nearly the day’s end, you saw how dark the sky was getting, Swift.”

Swift looked grim. “We’re on the clock.”

“We were already on the clock,” Robins muttered. “Now we’re sprinting to our deadline.”

“Where did you find this place, Robins?” Tink whispered. “Because I cannot believe Ben would want me dead.”

“I didn’t actually go looking for it,” Robins replied, her expression darkening. “I mean, I did a quick search a few weeks ago after you suggested a team day out, O’Malley. I didn’t even get past the first page of results, but you know what search engines are like.” She hesitated. “Because this place landed in my inbox.”

“What?” Annie said sharply, ignoring the guilt clawing at her gut. “Like a recommendation?”

Robins nodded slowly. “Yeah. Completely legit-looking, with a booking link and proper url address. Said it was an exclusive one-off escape room experience. Funny thing was the email was addressed directly to DCI Bob Strickland.”

The room fell silent again. A picture of Strickland’s old office flashed through Annie’s brain, not quite the old office they’d been in with the projector, but not far off.

“But Strickland’s not been in the team for years,” Swift said, his voice low.

Annie remembered the red-face man with wobbling jowls and a penchant for bending the rules. She’d been glad when he’d secreted himself away from the police force after a raft of accusations that weren’t illegal exactly, but they weren’t overly tasteful. Robins had stepped in not long after he’d gone and the rest was history. Or maybe it wasn’t.

“I know,” Robins said. “That’s what I thought too but I figured it was a mailing list thing. Maybe something from years ago that never got updated.”

“We need to get out of this house before the sun sets,” Annie said, the sense of dread that had been sitting heavy in her stomach had all at once started to bubble uncontrollably.

Things were starting to fall into place. The déjà vu Annie had been experiencing was from an old case, she knew it. And the idea that Robins had received an email from that era had to confirm it. Surely it wasn’t Theobald? They’d found out that he had died years ago, so who then?

“But how?” Swift asked, glancing up at the missing ceiling tile and drawing Annie back to Keyhouse. “We can’t get Page past the ledge, we can’t go down the stairs because the water is still there and we have no idea if it’s live or not. That door is fake.” He pointed to the ‘exit’ door. “So the only way is up. How can we get Page up there without hurting him even more? We don’t have time to get out and find help, we’re in the middle of nowhere with no phones.”

Tink slowly stood, swaying a little as she reached out to the wall for balance. Her skin was pale, lips tinged grey. She looked nothing like the vibrant woman who’d breezed onto the minibus room that morning. Now she was a ghostly crumpled wreck.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

The others turned to her.

“Tink?” Annie moved closer.

“No,” she said, louder this time, shaking her head. “Don’t waste your time on us.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Swift asked, frowning.

“You said it yourself.” Tink gestured around the room with a trembling hand. “There’s no way to get Page out safely. He can’t move. I can barely stand anymore. We’re dead weights.”

“Don’t say that,” Annie said firmly.

“But it’s true,” Tink replied, looking between them. “You all need to get out of here. You need to find a way out and stop whoever’s doing this before it’s too late. If you keep trying to save us, we’re all going to die in this bloody house. And if it’s Ben then I’m truly sorry.”

“No,” Swift snapped. “No one gets left behind.”

“You don’t have a choice!” Tink’s voice cracked and she staggered, clutching at her stomach. “Look at me, Swift. Look at him!” She pointed at Page, motionless on the floor beside her. “It’s too late for us, I know it.”

“Tink, stop,” Annie said, reaching for her.

But Tink stepped back. Her eyes were brimming with tears as they met Annie’s, glass-bright and full of something final.

“Go,” she said.

TWENTY

“Under no circumstances are we leaving them to die.” Annie’s voice cracked across the room like a whip, her eyes locked on Swift’s. He didn’t flinch, but his jaw clenched.

“Annie—”

“No.” She pointed to Tink who was pale and shaking, and Page, still unconscious and waxy. “We don’t leave our team. Ever.”

“I know,” Swift said, voice low. “I’m not going to suggest we do anything of the sort.” He turned to Tink. “But we’re running out of time, it’s nearly dark out and I distinctly remember the voice on the gramophone telling us that we’ll meet the same fate as Greybriar if we don’t solve the game before nightfall. Tink, how do you feel about moving? Are you up to it?”

“I’m not leaving Page.” Tink’s eyes were wide.

“He’ll be in our capable hands,” Swift whispered, reminding them all that they were being watched and listened to. “I need you to go up to the attic with Robins.”

Robins raised her head. “What?”

“Take Tink and get the hell out of here.” Swift held a hand out to the young DS who looked at it like it was a snake. “There’s a window, right at the front of the building. It’s where we saw Ben from, and it’s a fair old drop to the gravel outside, but there has to be a safe way down. Look for gutters, pipes, window ledges, anything, and get as far away as you can before you call for help.”

“But what about Page?” Tink stuttered, finally gripping Swift’s fingers with her own and pulling herself up. “I don’t want to leave him behind.”

Swift pulled Tink into his arms, hugging her tightly. “If you don’t go now, Page won’t have a chance at all. At least if you go and try to raise the alarm, help might arrive before it’s too late. Look at him Tink.”

The four of them looked down at Page’s ghostly face, the way his body was slumped against the floor, his legs still bent at awkward angles. Annie felt a lump rise in her throat, her nose fizzing with tears.

“We need to get him help,” she sniffed. “He’s fading.”

Silent tears tracked their way down Tink’s face and she nodded forlornly.

“Okay, I’ll go and do my best to get out of here.” She coughed, her own body doubling over in pain. “I think I might be fading too. If…” Tink huffed out a breath and looked between Annie and Swift, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “If I don’t make it long enough to see you two again, I want you to know that I love you both, and Page, and…” she sniffed again, hiccupping away a sob and choking out her last few words. “And I want you to name your first born after me in a tribute. Even if it’s a boy.”

A wet laugh bubbled out of her and Annie dragged her in for a hug, feeling the temperature from Tink’s fever radiating through her clothes. “You’re not going to leave us, Tink.”

“No, you’re bloody well not,” Swift agreed. “Mostly because I don’t want my children to be bullied at school.”

Annie looked over her shoulder at Swift, he may have been joking but his own eyes were red rimmed to match his nose. It made Annie want to cry even more.

“Come on Tink,” whispered Robins from where she was still hiding from the cameras. “We should get going, I’ll give you a leg up.”

Annie reluctantly let go and watched as Tink wobbled across the room to the door and the gap in the ceiling above.

“What will you two do now?” Tink asked, as she placed one foot into Robins’ cupped hands.

"We finish the game," Annie said quietly.

With a boost from Robins, Tink vanished into the dark space above, and a moment later Robins followed, replacing the hatch cover behind her with barely a sound. Annie held her breath, listening for any change from the house, but she was met with silence.

She looked back at Swift and gave a nod.

"Then let’s get to work," he said, kneeling beside Page and brushing the back of his hand against the man’s cheek. "Before this house takes someone else."

Annie sat down next to Page with a thump, the floor was hard beneath her, but she was starting to feel the effects of being on her feet all day. Not only that, but with limited food and drink and surging adrenaline, Annie was at risk of slumping into a dreamless sleep. She shook her head and picked up Page’s hand in her own, giving herself something to focus on.

“I think we only got the surface version of the story,” Annie said, her breath catching. “To start with, we said the wife killed Greybriar with Ricin and it was something to do with the heirloom. Then we said she killed the mistress because she was having an affair with Greybriar, but that’s not the full picture. And I think the game won’t let us out until we figure out the whole truth about the game. What really happened in this house. What really killed Greybriar.”

“You still think this is a game?” Swift asked.

“Not in the fun sense, no,” Annie replied, looking at the lifeless body of Page. “But I think we’re playing the game of a sadist who is enjoying watching us suffer, yes. And if we were wrong—if we missed something—they won’t let us go.”

“You think they’ll let us go if we solve the puzzle of the dead husband and missing heirloom?”

“No,” Annie let out an ironic laugh. “But they might go easy on us and kill us quickly.”

It was meant to be a joke, but neither of them laughed.

“I hate that that makes sense,” Swift muttered.

He met Annie’s gaze and a hush fell between them. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, exponentially glad that he hadn’t left on his own into the attic. Though Annie had no doubt he would have come back for them all, Swift was her rock, her life buoy in a sea of panic. Annie knew she was strong, she’d been independent for so long because she’d had no other choice, but now she’d known what it was to be able to rely on someone who would walk in front of a bullet for her, Annie clung to that feeling whenever she needed it. And she had never needed it more than she did now. Without thinking too hard, she leant forward and pressed her lips to his.

“We’re going to be okay,” she whispered. “All of us are going to be okay.”

Swift nodded. “We are. Tell me what you are thinking about the Greybriars.”

“This isn’t an escape room,” she said. “Not really. Not in the fun, Friday-night-out sense. This whole thing is designed like a theatre. With acts and characters.”

Swift’s head tilted. “What do you mean?”

“It’s performative,” Annie went on. “Whoever’s behind this, they wanted us to follow a narrative, even though that narrative was leading us the wrong way. The gramophone story told us to look for the reason Greybriar had died and to find the missing heirloom, so we did. But what if that narrative was to show us something else instead? Something not so obvious.”

“Like what?” Swift rubbed his chin.

Annie let go of Page’s hand and stood, pacing a slow walk across the room. Her mind wondered as she walked, taking her to places deep in her subconscious. Swift knew better than to talk to her when she was like this, so she only felt his reassuring presence at her peripheral.

She thought back through her past, growing up with a missing father and sister, her mother increasingly distant.

No that wasn’t it.

The first case she worked on with Swift, the one that lead her to the Theobald case and the children he trafficked.

No, that wasn’t it, either.

Was it the realisation that her parents weren’t who she thought they were? That she’d been taken by Theobald too and saved by her mum.

No. Annie, think, it’s more tangible than that.

A place, a touch memory.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, but something about this house, about this game, it feels personal,” she said eventually, unable to put her finger directly on the pulse point of what she was trying to remember. “There’s a feeling I can’t shake, even as we drove up here this morning. Like I’ve been here before. Not literally, but…”

“You’ve seen this place before?”

“More like echoes.” She moved toward the staircase down to the basement and touched the edge of the doorframe. “The façade of Keyhouse. That office. Down there. The type of rooms, even the smell—someone designed this place to feel familiar. But I can’t work out what it’s familiar to.”

Swift stood too, his brow furrowed. “You think there’s another layer?”

Annie nodded.

“To you?”

“Maybe not just me. Maybe all of us.”

Swift leaned against the wall, his arms folded. “You think this is about a case?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I keep seeing things that spark something in the back of my mind. I remember it, but not from here.”

She turned slowly. “And then there’s the voice on the gramophone. It was distorted, sure, but there was something in the rhythm. The cadence and tone and… urgh, Swift, it’s so annoying.”

“Could it be that you’re trying to give some order and reason to this game when actually there isn’t any? It could be nothing.”

“Or everything,” Annie said quietly. “We’ve had stalkers before. Revenge-seekers. People who blamed us for things we couldn’t stop. But this… this is different. This person doesn’t just want us dead, Swift. They want us to understand why.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, but she steadied it with a breath. Swift looked toward the ceiling, as if he could see Tink and Robins moving overhead. “So what do we do?”

“We follow the story,” Annie said. “But this time, we read between the lines. And I think we need to go back to the first room and look again in that book.”

TWENTY-ONE

“Back to the beginning.” Swift looked down at Page.

“I’m sorry,” Annie started, squatting down beside the DS, watching the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his chest. “I wish I could have worked this out sooner. I wish I’d listened to the dread in my chest as we walked up the steps to this bloody place. I wish I could understand what my brain is trying to tell me about Keyhouse. I’m⁠—”

“Don’t blame yourself, Annie,” Swift interrupted, a hand on her shoulder. “How could we know what we were walking into? It was supposed to be a fun day out, Robins organised it all, she’s our boss and none of us had any reason to fear this place.”

“That’s what I’m saying, though, Joe,” Annie went on, tugging at a loose bit of skin on her lip with her teeth. “I did have a weird feeling about this place, it all felt off to me.”

“And if you’d said something, what would have happened?”

Annie looked up at her best friend. “Nothing. I would have laughed it off with you guys and we would still be in the same predicament.”

“Exactly.” Swift held out his hand. “So let’s not do what-ifs, and try and sort out this mess while we still can.”

Annie kissed her fingers and placed them on Page’s forehead before taking Swift’s hand and pulling herself back to her feet. Her knees ached in protest and her head throbbed with dehydration and the weight of too many unanswered questions. Swift slid a protein bar from his pocket and left it beside Page. It wouldn’t do much in the whole scheme of things, but if Page woke, he’d hopefully know they hadn’t abandoned him.

They crossed the room in silence, Annie eye’s stinging, moving past the hidden cameras with their heads held high. A big part of Annie wonder if whoever it was watching them was still watching. Or if they’d left to try and find the ones not visible on the screens. Robins and Tink had been gone for about five minutes, enough time to be above the ledge room that she and Swift were about to tackle again. They may not know Robins was back, but they must be wondering about the DS vanishing.

Whoever had made Keyhouse had done a good job of inventing elaborate ways to maim people, but they’d also paid a great deal of attention to detail when it came to the little things too.

“We’re definitely missing something,” Annie said, letting Swift go first onto the platform. “Something small and mundane, probably, but that gives a huge clue as to what’s going on.”

Swift stepped out onto the ledge with more confidence than last time. The drop below yawned wide, the faint scent of damp and decay rising from the darkness. Without the panic from her previous time in the room, Annie could see how this room wasn’t built, as such, but dismantled. The floor of this room and the one below had been removed to reveal the gaping drop to the cellar of the property. At first, Annie had thought they’d dug out the foundations of the property and built up, but simply opening the drop to the cellar had been enough. The narrow lip of floor that had been left wrapped around the room like a cruel joke, a test of balance and nerves.

"So we do what you said and start again," Swift said as he moved along the ledge, back pressed against the cool wall. "Take in the tiny details and not the overall picture. It’s all theatre, smoke and mirrors. Take in this room, for example, we get distracted by the big scary fall and forget to look at the ceiling."

Annie followed, her hand grazing the smooth wall behind her.

"Exactly," she whispered, flicking her eyes upwards to an ornately painted ceiling. It had a fake rose and the cornicing was intricate. "Why make a room so stark but then add pretty details to the one bit we won’t be focussing on? Are they trying to tell us something or did they just get bored halfway through?"

"Maybe both," Swift muttered. "This room shows us how easily we can fall, even if we’re not to blame."

They kept moving, circling the perimeter of the drop. Annie’s mind was whirring. Fall even if we’re not to blame.

"Swift," Annie murmured. “Do you think someone is trying to teach us a lesson? What you said back then about falling even if we’re not to blame, could someone be telling us they’re not to blame?”

"An old case? But then how would Ben be involved?”

"I don’t know, maybe an old case," she said, frowning. " But I can’t place it. I’m sure that everyone we’ve arrested has been guilty of what we arrested them for. And I sure didn’t recognise Ben when I first met him."

“Mistakes happen, I suppose,” Swift disagreed. “But to go to the trouble of building a giant death trap seems a bit extreme, even for our perps.”

Annie snorted, oscillating between the ridiculousness of it all and the panic in a razor thin line that was as precarious as the one she was balanced on. They reached the far side of the ledge and paused at the door that would lead them toward the staircase. They looked back once, into the belly of the drop, and then slipped through.

The staircase beyond was wider than Annie remembered. The shadows stretched long, clinging to the skirting boards and clambering up the wallpaper in jagged, reaching shapes. Swift slowed at the top of the stairs.

"We saw someone here," he whispered. "From the attic. Remember? When we looked through the slats."

Annie nodded, her heartbeat ticking faster. "Yeah, they were right around here on the landing. Can you remember which way they went?"

Swift shook his head, eyes flicking back and forth over the landing. Annie stepped in front of him and crouched low, brushing her fingers along the edge of the top step. She had a bad feeling about this. Whoever it was doing this knew that the MCU would try and turn back and run down the stairs after their brush with the electrified water in the cellar. There was no way they would have been allowed to do that unscathed. She froze, her hand hovered over a small groove in the floorboard, no deeper than a hairline crack. But when she leaned closer, she saw the shimmer of metal inside.

"Shit, Swift, look at this," she breathed. "Pressure triggered. Look. That line runs across the stair tread. If you stepped too heavily⁠—"

Swift leaned down beside her, eyes narrowing. "Looks like a hinge. That panel would drop your foot straight into whatever's underneath."

Annie angled her head along the side of the stair. The faint glint of narrow blades flashed in the glow of the ornate chandelier above, a row of razors positioned to catch ankles right at the tendon.

She hissed a breath through her teeth. "Bloody hell."

"A sliced Achilles," Swift muttered. "That’s gruesome. "

They shared a look, stepping back and pressing close to the wall behind them. Swift glanced at the banister, then down at the narrow stairs.

“That was well spotted, Annie,” he said, voice wobbling. “We can’t trust any of the treads, if one is rigged, the rest might be too.”

Annie followed his gaze. “You thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

Swift nodded. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s very stupid,” Annie agreed. “But it might just work.”

He tested the banister’s strength with a quick shake. It looked solid, a heavy oak with numerous balustrades. “If we slide, keep our weight off the stairs…”

“…we might just make it down with both feet intact,” Annie finished. “God, this is ridiculous.”

They exchanged a glance, and without another word, Annie swung one leg over the rail and with a whispered count of three, she pushed off. The world blurred as she slid, wallpaper and air whizzed by as the marble floor came up quicker than she liked, the long, steep stairs and the shiny banister made for a quick acceleration. Landing hard at the bottom, the air knocked from her lungs, Annie sat for a moment to check herself for injury before seeing Swift’s backside hurtling at her at a million miles an hour. Rolling out the way just in time to avoid being squashed.

“Jeez,” Swift said, standing and rubbing his bum. “Might have been fun was it not for the chance of a gruesome death around every corner.”

Annie nodded grimly. "Let’s pretend it was anyway and not give them what they want."

“Don’t want to piss them off though, O’Malley,” Swift said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Right, shall we give the front door one more try?”

Annie bounced to her feet and looked at the heavy door that was the final barrier between them and the outside world. Her footsteps echoed across the hall as she walked up to it, placing a palm on the warm wood, wishing it would open under her fingers and she could step out into the warm August evening. But something was stopping her.

It wasn’t just the reinforced locks or the dread she could practically taste in the back of her throat. It was the gnawing thought that if they left now, if they even could, they’d be walking away without understanding who had gone to such sadistic lengths to punish them. And why.

She let her hand drop from the door.

“No,” she said. “I can’t leave without knowing who did this. Without knowing why they hate us this much.”

Swift let out a slow breath beside her. “You definitely think it’s personal.”

“Don’t you?” She turned back toward the centre of the room. “And until we know who they are, they still have power over us and we might never be safe.”

Swift nodded. “And Evans is still missing. Page needs medical attention. We don’t leave anyone behind.”

Annie gave a half-smile. “No matter how tempting that warm August air is.”

He moved to her side. “Then we finish it.”

“Let’s find the real ending. Before it finds us first.”

And together, they moved toward the first room, the book, and the secrets it still held.

TWENTY-TWO

They were missing and the Watcher was pissed.

The game had rules and structure, made by design not just on a whim for people to mess around with. Each path laid with intention so every movement could be accounted for. But now? Now the pieces weren’t where they were supposed to be. Literally.

The Watcher paced the hidden room, fingers twitching at their sides. The cameras were working. The screen feeds flicking through their rotation of views. So where was the girl? The watcher couldn’t see the officer who always played the cutesy young one in the team, with her stupidly perfect blonde hair and button nose, it was a sure thing that all the boys loved Tink. Hopefully she will have fallen to her death on her stupid face.

Yet the camera didn’t show it.

Years ago, a couple of players had pulled the wool over the Watcher’s eyes. Slipped through cracks not yet sealed. The Watcher had reached them in time though, shooting them down on the driveway in a bit of a bloody mess. It wouldn’t happen again. Not this time. This time it was too important to keep them all preserved so they could be incarcerated in this house forever just like Greybriar was. Perfect little specimens all of their own, and why not? They had treated the Watcher like a textbook to study. Locked away in a facility, poked and prodded and studied, and the questions, oh the questions. If the staff hadn’t written a book on the answers, then that was a wasted three years.

No, not wasted. They mustn’t think like that. Those three years were a breeding ground for revenge. And now it was being reenacted at last. A final battle to win the war. It wasn’t allowed to go wrong.

The Watcher’s mouth curled in fury as they made their way around the tunnels hidden behind the rooms, turning sharply, they pushed through into the bedroom, where the light didn’t reach and the air stank of rust and meat. She didn’t bother with gloves, her hands were already coated in old blood.

The room was silent, save for the wet rasp of breath from the four-poster bed. The shape slumped was more shadow than man now, bent, and broken.

Evans. Shame really.

The once-proud pathologist barely twitched when the Watcher approached. One eye swollen shut, lip split. She crouched in front of him and tilted her head.

“Come on, I thought you were supposed to be the fun one,” she murmured. “Not so fun now, are you?”

He made a sound, whether it was a groan or a plea, she couldn’t tell. Didn’t really care.

“They think they can still win, isn’t that cute?” She stood again, smoothing her hand over her apron. “One by one, they’ll break. Just like you did. Maybe I’ll get the hammer on them too. Maybe not, though, I need them to look pretty.”

She turned to the limp forms of Greybriar and the maid and with a grunt of effort she dragged them from the bed. One by one they hit the floor with a meaty thump and she leaned down to check they were damaged, running a soft finger over Greybriar’s face. Returning to Evans, she grabbed the sheet under him and hauled his slack weight across the covers with it, leaving a glistening smear in his wake. He groaned as she arranged his limbs like a mannequin, head lolling sideways, arms limp across the coverlet.

“There,” she said, breathless and sweating. “A new player on the scene. Let’s see how they like this version.”

TWENTY-THREE

The first room was exactly as they’d left it, only it looked worse to Annie’s fresh eyes. The gramophone lay on its side where it had been shoved to the floor, its brass horn bent at an awkward angle. The bookshelves loomed like sentinels and the lift door stood ajar, the platform unmoved inside.

Annie stepped into the room first, taking in the chaos with narrowed eyes. Swift followed, his gaze already flicking around the carnage.

“I think we might have lost our security deposit,” he uttered.

Annie huffed out a laugh, already moving toward the bookshelves, scanning titles with one hand trailing over the smooth spines. In all the panic of putting the book back and the room going pitch black, Annie couldn’t quite remember where the hidden locket poison book was placed on the shelves. Even the ladder had been rolled all the way to the edge of the room, leaving no clues as to its location.

“Any ideas?” Annie glanced behind her to see Swift crouched beside the drinks trolley.

“Somewhere over there,” he said, gesturing to the far wall. “Up a bit, you were about halfway up the ladder when the lights went out. Pretty sure it was next to a book called ‘pull me’ or something too. Do you want a hand?”

“No, I’m good,” she replied, rolling the ladder along the floor. “Do you think you’ve got something?”

Swift didn’t answer right away, he was staring at the surface of the drinks trolley, where a few of the decanters had been disturbed. One in particular sat slightly askew, as if it had been hastily replaced.

“You remember,” he said slowly, “when we first got in here and Robins and Evans checked this thing? You asked them what they found and they both looked… off.”

Annie paused, one foot on the first rung. “Yeah. I didn’t think much of it at the time because it was the start of the game and we had no idea what was going on, but they were weird about it, I remember that much.”

Swift turned one of the tumblers on the tray and froze. “Annie, look.”

Annie peered across to the trolley. Etched into the base of the drinks tray were scrawled words: Watch the two who love. Her blood ran cold.

“What does that even mean?”

“God knows,” Swift replied. “Maybe that was the start of whoever it is doing this to us pitting us against each other?”

“But what if we’d seen it?” Annie asked, starting to climb the ladder. “Would we have thought of Evans and Robins?”

“No,” Swift shook his head. “But we might have thought it was about Tink and Ben? And would Ben want to point suspicion at himself when we had no reason to link him here until we saw him? Maybe they knew we wouldn’t look at it because they know how much you love a jigsaw and that you’d be doing that instead.”

“That’s not at all creepy,” Annie shuddered.

“Shit, Annie, look.” Swift lifted a silver tray from the trolley. Beneath it, scrawled in smaller script like a signature or a footnote, were different words entirely: Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble.

Annie stared at the quote, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I know that proverb,” she said. “I know it, Swift, I’ve heard it before. You have too.”

“Yeah, I do, where from?” Swift straightened slowly. “Someone’s trying to tell us something.”

“Or scare us,” Annie said, increasingly annoyed with herself for not remembering why all these little clues were connected.

They stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with implication.

Then Annie turned back to the ladder. “Let’s find that book. Fast.”

She scrambled up the rungs like her life depended on it. Because maybe it just did. When Annie thought of the impending fall of evening and the words from the gramophone she knew their time in the house would be coming to an abrupt end. Even from the get go, the MCU had been warned, they’d get their electronics back if they made it out. They’d succumb to the same fate as old Greybriar if they didn’t solve the house in time.

“Swift, we need to work fast,” she hissed, scaling higher. Her fingers flew across the bindings, checking titles, pulling volumes free and shoving them back when they didn’t match. “Come on, come on, where are you?”

Her heart thundered in her chest. Every second felt like it was dragging them closer to the end. The end of what, Annie didn’t dare think about it. Below her, Swift moved around the room with a subtle urgency of his own, peering behind frames, lifting papers, glancing back toward the lift every so often as if expecting it to creak into life.

Annie paused halfway up the ladder, sweat beading at her brow despite the now cool air. “Keeps himself out of trouble. Stay quiet to stay safe? I don’t get it. What do we need to stay quiet about? Where have I heard that before?”

Swift didn’t answer, but she could feel the weight of his agreement. She climbed higher, nearing the middle of the shelves now, and started yanking books free in earnest.

“The book was about poisons right?” she muttered. “I can’t remember the exact title, but it had a navy cover, yeah?”

“Yeah, navy and gold I think,” Swift shouted back.

A beat passed, then a scream of hinges sounded out from somewhere far below. Annie froze.

Swift snapped his head up. “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Annie’s voice cracked. “The lift?”

“No,” Swift said, squinting toward the open lift doors. “It hasn’t moved. I think it came from the depths, maybe the vault below us”

Another groan echoed through the walls and Annie felt her stomach drop out, her knees turn to jelly. It felt like the house was urging them on, telling them to hurry up or it was going to squash them within its walls.

Annie shoved another book aside, then another, and then she saw it. A navy blue leather-bound book, dull gold trim. Poisons & Their Properties: A Compendium for the Discerning Collector. She nearly dropped it from the force with which she pulled it free. Her fingers trembled as she flipped open the front cover and the first wad of pages until she saw the locket.

“I’ve got it, Swift, it’s here,” she called, almost sliding down the ladder like a fireman’s pole.

She ran over to the maid’s trolley and they huddled together, book open on the trolley's scratched surface. Annie carefully lifted the locket from its carved indentation in the hollowed pages.

“It’s exactly as we left it,” she murmured.

Swift peered over her shoulder. “Careful with it. I am not altogether sure that’s not the real thing stowed away in there.”

“I am.” She shuddered and turned the delicate, oval locket around in her fingers.

It gleamed dully in the dim light. She eased it open to the fine dusting of pearlescent powder. Swift’s words rang in her ears, if this was the real thing then surely they’d all be dead from the first time they opened it? Or feeling pretty rough, at least.

Annie sniffed at it, reeling back before she sneezed it all away. “It’s not poison, not unless ricin smells like baby powder.”

“Thank god,” Swift started.

“Yep,” Annie snapped it shut and turned it over in her hands. “But now it’s just a locket full of baby powder in a book. And look, there’s no inscription, or initials. It’s blank and my theory has just flown out the window. I could have sworn there would be something written on it that would have given us a clue.”

Annie let out a frustrated grunt, set the locket down on the trolley with more force than necessary, and turned to Swift again.

“This was supposed to be it,” Annie said, voice rising. “This was the key to the Greybriar story. It’s all fake. A misdirect. None of it means anything and I was wrong. What am I not getting, Swift? Why can’t I think straight?”

She shoved the book off the trolley in frustration. It bounced off the corner and landed with a heavy thud, smack in the middle of the jigsaw puzzle they’d worked on earlier. The book flopped open on impact.

Swift looked down first. “Annie…”

She turned. There, on the flyleaf, was a spidery, fragile inscription.

To my dearest Levi. May the truth never reach you. Love, Isodora.

Annie stared, blinking. “Levi?”

Swift’s brow furrowed. “Who’s that?”

“Swift,” she shouted, the cogs finally starting to shift into place. “His name was Levi.”

Swift looked up. “Greybriar’s first name?”

“Yes. The husband, his name was Levi.” She clutched the book to her chest. “This changes everything.”

Swift stepped around the trolley toward her, still frowning. “But why? What does that tell us?”

Annie looked up at him, eyes wide and suddenly glassy. Her voice, when it came, was tight with the realisation she could no longer avoid the truth. The dead man in the bed hadn’t been a mannequin, it had been a real person. A person they had saved once before.

“Because I know who’s doing this,” she whispered.

TWENTY-FOUR

Memories of the case hit like a sledgehammer as soon as Annie read Levi’s name. And from there the pieces fell like dominos.

Annie grabbed Swift by the wrist and dragged him into the open lift. She glanced around the room, then pulled the door closed behind them. They may still be being watched, but in the lift felt like the safest place to be.

“Annie?” Swift’s voice was sharp with concern. “Talk to me.”

She couldn’t get her words out as she remembered the tall, oppressive front doors. The split staircase curling upward on either side. The polished, echoing lobby. Foxton School for Girls.

Her pulse surged so hard it made her ears ring. She could see it, smell it, even now. The sweet floor polish, the faint tang of chalk dust in the corridors, the narrow leaded windows casting prison-bar shadows across parquet floors. She spun toward Swift, words finally tumbling from her mouth.

“Joe, don’t you remember? The office I said I’d been in, it’s exactly like the headmaster’s at Foxton. The desk placement, the filing cabinet in the corner, even the bloody pictures on the wall. And the entrance—” She pointed in the vague direction of the heavy front door. “It’s a mirror image of Foxton’s.”

Swift’s brows knitted. “Annie, slow down⁠—”

“No!” Her voice cracked with urgency, panic rising like bile. “It’s been built to represent her home. It’s her. It’s Florence Haversham.”

Swift’s head snapped back slightly. “Florence?”

“Yes,” Annie hissed. “From the second case we worked on together. The girl who played us all and made us think she was just another victim. But she wasn’t, Joe. She was clever and manipulative even back then. Her boyfriend, Levi, remember? She killed all those other girls because she wanted Levi to herself. The quote on the drinks trolley was what she carved into their skin. Oh god, Swift, what the hell have we done?

Swift stared at her for a beat, then swore under his breath. “Christ, Annie…”

“It’s Florence,” Annie repeated, her voice a mixture of terror and grim certainty. “She’s the one running this game. And she’s not going to let any of us walk out of here alive.”

Swift dragged a hand down his face. “I thought she was sent away when we found out what she’d done?”

“She was,” Annie said, her breath still coming fast. “She was found guilty and sent to a secure unit, wasn’t she? A youth mental health place as she was deemed lacking in capacity, from what I can remember.”

“She should still be there,” Swift muttered. “She wouldn’t have been able to just walk out.”

“Not unless they let you age out,” Annie shot back. “And she’d be what now—twenty-one? Twenty-two? I know it’s her, Swift, I just know it.”

Swift swore again, putting both hands on the side of the lift and letting out a yell. Annie leaned back against the cold metal wall and tried to slow her breathing.

“I can’t believe they’d just let her go, though,” he said, eventually, looking down at Annie.

“Then what the hell are we doing here in the middle of a fake Foxtons with a psychotic killer trying to trap us?” Annie loved Swift, but sometimes he infuriated her.

“What about Ben?”

“What about Ben?”

“Where does he fit into all this?”

“I don’t know,” Annie admitted. “Maybe he’s working with her. Bait, or another pawn she’s put in play because she knows Tink will follow him anywhere?”

Swift opened his mouth to answer but the lift gave a violent jolt, pitching them both into the walls. The metal shuddered around them as Annie’s shoulder slammed into the panel, sending a sharp sting down her arm.

“What the—” Swift braced one hand against the wall, the other against Annie’s arm to steady her.

The floor beneath them groaned, cables above straining in a high, metallic whine. The sensation was nauseating: a lurch, a sway, then the slow, deliberate rise of the lift.

“Swift…” Annie whispered.

“I know.” His eyes swept the ceiling, hunting for a way out, maybe, the hatch they’d climbed into. “Stay close.”

The lift clanked upwards, the sound echoing up the shaft like a death knell. Annie’s hand found his and stayed there as a hiss crackled to life overhead. For a second there was only static, then a voice spilled through, less distorted than it had been.

“Well, well, well,” The pause was theatrical, but nothing about it made Annie want to hear more. “It’s about time you worked it out. I’ve been waiting for you to remember me, I didn’t think I’d be that easy to forget.”

Swift’s throat worked, but he said nothing.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for a very, very long time,” Florence went on.

The lift juddered again, slowing at the first floor. Annie’s heart hammered so hard it hurt.

“I want you to see what I’ve made for you,” Florence continued, almost giddy. “Every inch of this house is mine but I designed it just for you.”

Swift glanced at Annie. His jaw was clenched so tight she thought his teeth might shatter.

“But I won’t thank you. Oh no, gratitude’s not in my nature anymore.” The sweetness in her tone curdled to something cold. “Instead… I’m going to do to you, what you did to me and make you decide who matters most. Decide whose life you’re willing to buy with someone else’s. Just like you did to me all those years ago.”

“We didn’t do that to her.” Annie wrapped her arms tighter around Swift. “We didn’t make her choose. She strung up her friends because she thought they wanted Levi. She hated her parents, didn’t she?”

Swift swallowed hard. “She’s setting us up to fail,” he whispered. “Florence never did take any responsibility for what she did, even back then, there’s nothing to suggest that’s changed. We can’t reason with someone who believes it is never her fault.”

A long beat of static hissed before Florence spoke again with a whisper that slid under Annie’s skin. “You will have a minute to decide.”

The lift groaned to a halt and Swift immediately reached for the birdcage-style gates. He slid them aside just enough for the two of them to peer through. The smell hit first. It wasn’t the same musty damp of the house she’d been inhaling through the day, but something heavier. A sweet-tinged metallic smell that sat heavily in her sinuses.

The bedroom was dimly lit as before and it took a while for Annie’s eyes to adjust. Every creak and groan of the floors and walls made Annie imagine Florence jumping out at her with a thick stretch of rope to wrap around her neck and hang her with. She shuddered and moved behind the DI, peering out into the bed at the centre of the room. Shadows clung to every corner, the air thick with tension.

For a heartbeat Annie thought it was the same grotesque tableau they’d played with before, the bodies of Greybriar and the maid lying limp on the coverlet, eyes closed to give the impression of sleep. But something was off. More off than the realisation that maybe they hadn’t been props after all. Annie felt sick.

The shapes were different now. There was a familiarity in the way the forms lay, and Annie’s pulse began to pound.

“Swift…” she breathed, pushing past him.

Annie edged toward the bed, the lamp light flickering over the twisted folds of the duvet. She reached out, fingers brushing the nearest shape, and recoiled as she saw what was laying there. It wasn’t Greybriar. It wasn’t the maid.

Evans lay sprawled on his back, his face barely recognisable under swelling and bruises. Beside him, Page, still pale and waxy, his chest rising in shallow, fragile breaths. Annie’s hand flew to her mouth. Her stomach lurched so hard she thought she might be sick right there on the carpet.

“Oh my god,” Swift cried, stepping up beside her, his shadow falling across the bed. “What have you done?”

Annie looked around for any sign that Florence was in the room with them. She needed a weapon, anything, she’d slam a table lamp over her head if she needed to. And that was when she saw it glinting on the bedside table. Sitting there, bathed in the amber glow of the lights, was an ornate glass bottle. The thing looked like it belonged in a stage play, all faceted crystal and swirling gold filigree, topped with an absurdly large stopper shaped like a teardrop. A neat little label, tied to the neck with satin ribbon, read in looping script: Antidote.

It was so over-the-top that Annie felt her lip curl. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

Swift followed her gaze and gave a grim, humourless huff. But before either of them could move, the speaker crackled to life again.

“I see you’ve found it,” she purred. “The cure. Just enough for one of them. But, sadly, both of them have been given the poison.”

Annie’s head snapped up, eyes searching the walls for the source of the sound. Florence’s laugh slithered out of the speaker.

“One minute,” she reminded them, almost sweetly. “Choose wisely.”

TWENTY-FIVE

For a moment, Annie couldn’t breathe.

The words choose wisely seemed to echo inside her skull, bouncing from wall to wall, with their own kind of poison. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, feel the burn of adrenaline flooding every inch of her body. Swift stood frozen beside her, fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw twitching with the stress.

“How the hell are we supposed to—” His voice cracked, then broke off entirely.

Annie’s eyes flicked from Page to Evans, from Evans back to Page, over and over, as if one of them might suddenly volunteer themselves as tribute. Page, the young DS who had overcome so many obstacles in his childhood to get where he was today, lay frighteningly still except for that shallow rise and fall of his chest. Evans, the pathologist who always had a smile on his face despite his surroundings, was bruised and bloody and… his head shifted. Just barely. His swollen eye cracked open, hazy and bloodshot, searching for a friendly face.

“Jesus,” Annie whispered, crouching down beside the bed. He tried to speak but his throat caught on the first sound. She leaned closer. “It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t talk.”

He licked dry lips with his swollen tongue and forced out broken words. “Page.”

Annie shook her head. “No. Don’t you… don’t you dare.”

“Page,” he croaked again, more insistent this time. “He’s younger. He’s… he’s got more left.” His breath rattled in his chest. “Don’t waste it on me.”

Swift stepped forward, shaking his head violently. “Shut up, Evans. That’s not your call. You’ve got young kids and everything to live for too. We’re going to get you both out.”

Evans’ one good eye fixed on the DI. “You can’t. You know you can’t.”

Annie’s throat felt like it was closing. The seconds were slipping away, she could feel them bleeding out into the heavy air.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, her hands curled into tight fists in her lap. “Florence wants us to pay for what we did back then, when all we did was stop her hurting people. We can’t be held responsible for that forever, it’s not a scar she can scratch open whenever she wants.”

Swift was pacing beside the bed, running both hands through his hair, muttering to himself as if there was some loophole he could find in time that would mean both of their colleagues could be saved.

Evans coughed weakly, each breath dragging at the swollen bruises on his face. “Do it. Don’t you dare let him die because of me. I will never talk to you again. Just make sure someone nice does my autopsy. Not Sammy or Phil.”

Florence’s voice slithered out of the speaker again, light and playful as a cat batting a dying mouse. “Tick, tock, little detectives. Every second you waste is another drop of venom tightening its grip.”

Annie’s stomach twisted. She wanted to scream, wanted to smash everything around her, wanted to rip the speaker out of the wall just to stop hearing that voice. But all she could do was look between the two men and feel the noose draw tighter.

And then it hit her. Not panic anymore but something sharper, cutting straight through the haze. Venom. Her mind replayed Florence’s words in a looping echo: Every second you waste is another drop of venom tightening its grip. Not powder. Not poison. Venom.

A needle-prick of doubt broke through the suffocating panic. Venom wasn’t a poison, as such. It was from a snake or a bug, something alive. Was it a slip up on Florence’s part? Did it mean this was all theatre? Florence was a master of make-believe; it wasn’t that far-fetched to think that maybe all was not as it seemed.

Annie’s gaze flicked around the room until it landed on the ornate bottle, tied with a ribbon, and finished off with a ridiculous label. The amber lighting bathing everything in a stage-set glow. She remembered the way Florence had always set up her crime scenes as something else. She dressed them like a theatre to try and pretend her victims had hung themselves. The way she could weave a lie so cleanly that it sounded truer than the truth.

What if there is no venom at all?

Annie swallowed hard, forcing her expression to stay tight, panicked, just as Florence would expect. Her mind screamed at her not to show her hand. If Florence even suspected she was doubting the rules, she’d change the game instantly and not in their favour.

Without turning her head, she let her eyes slide to Swift. Held his gaze for a beat longer than usual. Tried to let the thought travel without sound. He frowned back at her, just slightly, as if catching the glint of something beneath her panic. She let her fingers graze his wrist in a fleeting, deliberate touch. Not a comfort this time, but a message.

His brows pulled together in a faint question, but she shook her head once, barely perceptible, as if saying wait. Then she glanced meaningfully toward the bottle on the table, and back to him. For a moment, she thought he’d missed it entirely. Then, just as Florence’s voice crackled again over the speaker, she saw the tiniest narrowing of his eyes and dip of his chin.

The speaker spat and hissed again.

“Hurry up,” Florence snapped, her saccharine veneer cracking. “You’ve got seconds left and you’re busy holding each other’s hands.”

Annie’s pulse thundered. She straightened abruptly, knocking her hip against the bedside table so hard it sent the ornate bottle wobbling. She seized the moment, her elbow slipped seamlessly into the lamp, toppling the ceramic base to the floor with a shattering crack.

Swift flinched. “Annie, what are you doing?”

“Don’t give it to either of them,” she whispered through the noise. “Not yet.”

He froze, his gaze darting to the bed, to her, back to the ridiculous bottle. But before he could argue, Annie made her move. She bolted for the lift, her trainers pounding across the carpet. The birdcage gates clanged as she wrenched them open, metal teeth rattling in protest.

She didn’t look back, she couldn’t, because if she did, she might see Evans’ face or Page’s chest rising too shallowly. And she’d stop and think what the hell was she doing.

Instead she hurled herself into the lift’s cold metal box, fingers fumbling for the button.

“Come on, come on…” With a lurch, the mechanism groaned into motion, the cables above whining as the lift began its slow descent. Annie gripped the rail so tight her knuckles ached.

“Running away doesn’t stop the clock, Annie.” Florence’s voice pursued her down the shaft with a barbed edge.

Annie shut her eyes for half a second, pulling in air. She hoped Swift would understand what she was doing. Maybe he didn’t have to understand, he just needed to play for time and not give either Page or Evans the antidote.

The lift juddered to a stop with a clang that rattled up Annie’s legs. She shoved the birdcage doors open and tore out into the first room. She didn’t stop. Her only focus was the far doorway, the corridor beyond, and the staircase that would take her back up to the ledge room and the landing with the exit door and the stairs to the basement.

Her breath rasped in her throat. Every step felt like she was dragging lead, she was so tired and so thirsty. But the thought kept hammering at her: It’s all a performance. It’s not real.

Florence’s voice hissed in her memory, winding around those particular words: venom tightening its grip. If the poison was real, Annie couldn’t help but think Florence would have played it differently. She would have relished describing their bodies shutting down, the final gasps, the agony. Instead, she had given them a pantomime bottle and a countdown. Neither Page nor Evans had looked like they were a minute away from death by poisoning. Annie hoped with everything she had that she was right. There was no thinking about the chance that she could be wrong and both of her colleagues were now dead.

The corridor swallowed her up, shadows flinching as she barrelled through the entrance hallway and up the bannisters as fast as her arms could pull her. She reached the top and paused, cramp buckling her body. The air from the vast drop to the basement was now cool and damp. Her skin prickled, but she forged ahead around the ledge as quickly as she could without putting herself in immediate danger. The last thing Swift needed was to be peeling her from the concrete below.

At that thought, Annie made the mistake of looking down. The yawning drop to the basement floor pulled at her like a tide, the water covered concrete far below seeming to tilt and shift. Her stomach flipped. For a moment, the house wasn’t Keyhouse at all, it was the echo of every place she’d felt cornered and small.

Her vision shimmered at the edges. She could hear her father’s voice, not words as such but his tone. Her mother’s silence. Her sister’s jeers. The concrete below seemed to lean up towards her, beckoning. A hot rush of dizziness swept her from crown to toes and her hand shot out to grip the cold wall, pressing her shoulder into it like an anchor.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Her throat burned. She shut her eyes for a beat, forcing the shadows of her past back where they belonged. One cautious step. Another. The far end of the ledge was waiting. And so was the basement. And that was where Annie was heading.

It was where they’d caught Florence last time. Not here, not in this hell-puppet version of Foxton, but in the real place. The basement. It was why Annie had felt like she’d been there before as she’d descended the stairs. She vividly remembered the brick and the curved arches, the way Florence had been there with a rope threaded through one of the hooks in the ceiling, her friend Lily hanging from the other end, her life draining from her body.

Annie pushed on, her breath catching as the air grew cooler, damper, wrapping itself around her like a clammy shroud. If she was right, then the water below wasn’t electrified at all. It was theatre, just another piece of Florence’s set dressing designed to keep them penned in. She had guessed maybe it was all just crackles sounding through the speakers and a smoke machine, designed to trick them into thinking they were in mortal danger. But what if they hadn’t been and it was simply just water?

Her trainers thudded down the stairs, the sound swallowed by the thick stone walls. She reached the bottom and paused, eyes sweeping the shadows. The dark yawned around her, broken only by the faint glisten of the water pool at her feet.

Then she spotted the door. Tucked away behind the curve of the stairs, half-hidden in gloom. The same door she’d clocked earlier but never reached, too busy dragging Page’s limp weight to safety. She crept to the bottom step, her gaze on the water. If Florence was bluffing, she needed to prove it to herself before she went any further. Annie eased off her right shoe, the damp chill of the floor seeping instantly through her sock.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, and lobbed the shoe into the water.

It landed with a splash, bobbing lazily. No sparks. No hiss. Nothing at all to suggest the water was in any way live with an electric current. Her chest loosened fractionally, she’d been right about this at least.

With a forced breath, Annie stepped down into the water, tears stinging her nose at the realisation she was okay. She grabbed her trainer, pulling it back on her foot, and made her way to the door. Gripping the cold handle, heart hammering as she willed herself to turn it.

She eased it open and froze.

Ben stood there, framed in the shadows as he lifted his hands and grabbed Annie painfully by the arms.

TWENTY-SIX

Annie’s first instinct was pure survival. She drove her knee up hard, catching Ben in the groin. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to wrench one arm free. She shoved him back with all her strength and spun, feet splashing through the shallow water as she bolted for the stairs.

Her pulse roared in her ears as she dragged herself up the stairs away from Ben. She could feel his breath right behind her. Every step felt like it weighed a tonne, the slick stone underfoot threatening to throw her. She was halfway up when something hit her from behind like a sledgehammer.

They crashed forward together, her shoulder smacking against the wall. His weight crushed the air from her lungs as she hit the steps face-first. Pain exploded through her ribs.

Before she could draw breath, his hand clamped down over her mouth, pressing her head sideways into the cold stone. His forearm braced hard against her chest, pinning her flat.

She bucked and twisted, muffled cries lost against his palm. Her fingernails clawed at his wrist, but he only pressed harder, his voice a low growl in her ear.

“Stop fighting.”

The words vibrated through her skull and she shook her head, thrashing harder. The smell of damp stone, sweat, and stale water filled her nose, making her stomach heave. Ben’s knee dug into her hip, locking her down. Every breath was a battle. Her heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her teeth.

He leaned closer, breath hot against her ear. “Annie, please, stop fighting me.”

Her mind flashed to Florence. To Evans and Page lying on that bed. To Swift. She had seconds, maybe less, before she was completely overpowered. And she was not about to be dragged back down into that water, not when she’d come so far since that morning.

“Annie!” Ben’s voice cracked, louder now, his desperation bleeding through. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

She stilled for half a heartbeat, breath sawing in and out under his palm. Could she trust what he was saying?

“Promise me you won’t scream if I let you go.” His grip eased just enough for her to feel the tremor in his hand. “Promise.”

Every instinct screamed don’t trust him, but she gave a short, jerky nod. Ben hesitated, then slowly peeled his hand away. She gulped air like she’d been drowning.

“Listen to me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “What the hell is going on? I overheard someone talking down here. There’s a room in the basement, someone was in there and when I looked in there was a whole set up of monitors and stuff and it looked suss. I need to know Tink is okay.”

Annie blinked hard, trying to read him. His face was pale, eyes wide, sweat beading at his hairline. But that could mean anything.

“How did you even get in?” she demanded. “We’ve been searching for a way out since we got here.”

“There’s a door. Down there.” He jerked his head toward the shadows under the stairs. “It was open. I came in that way.”

Disbelief rose sharp and hot in her throat. “And I’m just supposed to buy that? We’ve been in trouble here and you just happened to show up in the middle of all this through an unlocked door?”

“I’m here because Tink gave me the address.” His voice hardened. “She hasn’t messaged me all day. I knew something was wrong. If that makes me a crazy stalker, fine, I’ll wear it. But look at you, look at this place, you need help.”

Annie stared at him, still breathing hard, the roar of her pulse loud in her ears. She wanted to believe him. God help her, she really did. But in Keyhouse, believing the wrong person could get her killed.

She stayed crouched on the stairs, staring at Ben, weighing every possible outcome. If she believed him and he was lying, he could finish the job Florence started. If she left him here and he was telling the truth, she’d be abandoning the one person who might tip the balance in their favour. She didn’t know what to do.

Ben must have read it in her face because his own hardened with something raw.

“Annie,” he said quietly, “I love her.” The words hung there between them. “I know it hasn’t been long. But I do. I love Tink. And I need to know she’s okay. I can’t… I can’t leave without knowing that she’s okay.”

Annie’s stomach twisted, maybe he was telling the truth. She had put herself in harm’s way to help Swift before, and Annie knew what it meant when you really loved someone. Then she remembered Tink’s pale, fever-sweated face, the way her voice had trembled when she’d joked about naming their firstborn after her. The memory hit like a blow.

“What?” he asked, catching the flicker in her eyes.

“She’s trying to get out through the attic,” she murmured. “But she’s not well, we think she’s been poisoned.”

Ben’s face drained of colour. “No.”

“She’s sick, Ben. Weak. I… I don’t even know how bad.”

He was already shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

Annie’s throat tightened. This wasn’t the calculated Florence fear she’d been fighting all day. This was fear that not all of her team, her family, would get out of Keyhouse alive. In that moment, she decided to trust Ben.

She leaned in to him, keeping her voice low. “If we’re going to get out of here we need to stop the person doing this and we need to do it now. While she still thinks I’m alone. I’ve come up against this person before and she might look unassuming and small but she is a devil.”

Ben nodded once, his jaw firmly set. Annie could see the worry etched on his brow and felt it deep in herself too.

“You said you heard her talking in a room down here?” Annie asked.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “Through that door, tucked behind the stairs. She didn’t see me but her door was open and she looked like she was on her own.”

Annie’s pulse picked up. “We get in, hit her fast, and don’t give her a chance to fight back. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Ben’s expression hardened. “Fine by me.”

They moved together, as quietly as they could back down to the foot of the stairs and the pool in the basement. Ben eased the door open just an inch, checking the coast was clear and they slipped through, keeping low. The corridor beyond was narrow, brick walls slick with damp. Along one side, a sliver of yellow light spilled from a partially open door.

Annie’s stomach clenched. “That’s her?” she mouthed.

Ben nodded, going first, his hands curled into fists. Annie followed close behind, heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. They reached the door and stopped. A faint shuffle of movement sounded inside, then the unmistakable sound of a woman humming to herself.

Ben glanced back at Annie. She steeled herself and gave the smallest nod. He shoved the door wide and they both surged inside.

Florence spun, shock flashing across her face just before Annie’s shoulder slammed into her midsection, driving her back against a desk with a crash. Florence bucked violently as Ben grabbed her arms, a guttural growl ripping from her throat. She wrenched one arm free and smashed the back of her hand into Annie’s cheekbone, the crack of impact bursting light behind Annie’s eyes with the pain. Ben lunged to pin her arm again, but Florence kicked out hard at his shin. He grunted, stumbling just enough for her to twist free of his grip.

Annie grabbed for her, fingers tangling in Florence’s hair. Florence shrieked and yanked away, leaving a clump of hair in Annie’s hand as she sped to the door.

“Ben!” Annie shouted.

He reacted fast, slamming his fist into her stomach before she could escape. She doubled over, but Florence was far from finished. She twisted like a snake, ramming her head back into Ben’s face. He swore and stumbled back, blood springing from his nose, and Annie took that moment to surge forward, tackling Florence to the ground. They hit hard, the wind punching from Annie’s lungs. Florence scratched, clawed, teeth snapping so close to Annie’s ear she felt the rush of breath. Annie planted her knee in Florence’s stomach, holding her down as she bucked and writhed beneath her.

Her eyes were wild, bright, triumphant even now she was losing strength beneath Annie.

“You think this ends with me giving up?” she spat, blood flecking her teeth.

Annie pressed her forearm into Florence’s throat. “Yes,” she said, her voice flat. “This was nothing but a charade. Page fell, you pushed Robins. But you haven’t hurt anyone directly. You’re too much of a coward.”

Florence’s lips curled into a slow, twisted smile. Then she let out a low laugh that spilled into something jagged and almost giddy.

“You’re too late,” she rasped, voice rough under Annie’s forearm. “Your time’s up, they’re all going to die up there anyway. I gave you until the end of the day, and that end is nigh.”

The words landed like ice in Annie’s veins. For a second she couldn’t breathe, not from the fight, but from the image that slammed into her mind. Swift. Page. Evans. All trapped in that bedroom, helpless.

She pushed harder on Florence’s throat, rage surging hot and electric through her limbs.

“You’re lying,” she growled. “You’re just trying to rattle me. It’s all a farce, the electricity, the locked doors, the hanging person. Everything was just theatre, you don’t have it in you to build death traps. Even Page was injured because he fell in a hole, that’s not clever, that’s just gravity. There’s no way you can kill them all in that bedroom without being there yourself. I don’t believe it.”

Florence’s grin only widened. Annie’s thoughts tore between the here and now and the faces of the people still upstairs. She could only hope Robins and Tink had made it out, that they were far away from this nightmare by now. But the rest. No. She couldn’t think like that. She pressed down harder, her jaw tightening.

“But if anyone dies up there, Florence,” she said through her teeth, “you won’t be around to enjoy it.”

Florence’s laughter rasped against her arm again, but Annie didn’t loosen her grip. Not for a single second.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Annie!”

Ben’s arms locked around her shoulders, hauling her backwards. She fought him, teeth clenched, her hands still clawing for Florence’s throat as she was lifted from her knees and Ben took over.

“Don’t let her go!” she shouted, twisting hard against him. “Don’t you dare let her go!”

“She’s done,” Ben grunted, forcing her back another step. “You’re going to crush her windpipe.”

“Good!” Annie spat, shoving at his chest, but his grip didn’t break.

Florence sagged against the floorboards, coughing, a feral smile still twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“Call for help!” Annie barked at Ben, yanking herself free at last. “Knock her unconscious, tie her down, I don’t care, just don’t take your eyes off her!”

“Annie—”

“Promise me!” she snapped, already backing toward the door.

Ben nodded sharply. “Go!”

That was all she needed. She turned and bolted, her trainers hammering up the narrow corridor and out into the basement. Her legs burned as she pounded up the stairs two at a time, Florence’s ragged laughter echoing faintly in her mind.

She barely felt the cold damp on her skin anymore, only the heat of panic and the pounding rhythm of her own heartbeat. The corridor above swam in shadow, every doorway a delay, every turn a reminder that time was bleeding out. Up another flight, into the internal lobby and through the room with the narrow ledge. Her breath tore in and out, harsh in her own ears.

The thought hit her like a blow, Swift. Page. Evans.

She didn’t slow as she raced for the lift to the bedroom, praying she wasn’t already too late. Annie dragged open the cage doors to the bedroom and for a heartbeat, she couldn’t process what she was seeing. Swift was slumped on the floor just inside, his back propped against the wall, head lolled to one side. His skin was pale, lips slack. Evans and Page were still on the bed, exactly where she’d left them, but now the stillness felt heavier. A sweet smell of almonds stung her nose.

“Swift!” Her voice cracked. She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulder. “Joe! Talk to me.”

There was no answer. She shook him again, watching his chest to see movement. As it rose and fell relief crashed over her, followed instantly by a new wave of panic at how jolted it was.

She looked at the bed. Evans’ head had rolled sideways, mouth open, a thin trickle of white fluid spilled from between his lips. Page was unnervingly still, the fragile flutter of his breathing almost invisible in the dim light. A sharp nausea rolled up from her stomach and into her throat. Her vision swam at the edges, the floor tilting slightly under her. 

Not now. Not now.

She forced herself upright, one hand gripping the wall for balance. The wallpaper under her palm felt flimsy, brittle, like painted paper over plywood. The realisation hit her like a jolt. This place wasn’t solid, it never had been. Just like the electrocuted water, it was a set, a theatre dressing. Florence’s lies were woven into the walls themselves.

Her gaze darted around the room. If it was all fake, if this was a stage, then somewhere behind it would be the truth. Or at least a way to get her friends some fresh air. And herself, she was beginning to feel dizzy.

Annie stumbled toward the dresser, snatching up the stool sitting underneath. She staggered to the nearest wall and swung hard. The crack echoed in the room and she swung again with a splintering rip as the plasterboard gave way. A jagged hole appeared, dust billowing into the air.

She coughed hard, eyes stinging. Her grip tightened on the weapon. Again. She smashed it into the wall, the impact jarring her shoulders. More of the surface crumbled away, chunks of false wall thudding to the floor. Behind it there was darkness and the relief of feeling a cold breeze of air.

She tore through the wall like a woman possessed, dragging jagged pieces aside with her bare hands. The sharp edges bit into her skin, but she didn’t care. She wanted to rip the whole facade down, expose it for what it was, let her friends breathe again.

Her legs trembled, a wave of dizziness swelling again. The dust in the air was thick now, clinging to her tongue, choking her throat. She fought through it, her mind locked on getting them all out safely.

A section of the wall gave way, the brittle frame snapping under her assault. She stumbled forward into the gap, gripping a wooden beam to steady herself. The air behind the wall was cooler and she could see the void between the fake wall and the real outer structure of the house.

She swung again, tearing more away, desperate to make the gap big enough to drag them all through if she had to. Somewhere behind her, a low groan sounded as one of the men started stirring. She didn’t turn, instead, she smashed the stool into the last stubborn section of wall with a raw, wordless yell. The frame cracked, splinters flying everywhere, but the hole was big enough for them to escape. She dropped the shattered stool and lunged for Swift.

“Come on, Joe,” she gasped, hooking her arms under his and trying to haul him upright. His head lolled forward against her shoulder, his dead weight pulling her down with him. She gritted her teeth and heaved again, the muscles in her back screaming, but he didn’t move more than an inch.

“Damn it!” She shoved him back against the wall, running to Evans on the bed. But the same thing happened, he was too heavy, his limbs unresponsive, his body a deadweight that she couldn’t hope to carry.

Page. She staggered over, sobbing now, and grabbed the front of his shirt. He might as well have been nailed there.

“Come on, please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “Don’t do this to me, not now…”

Anger and panic surged together, burning hot under her skin. She slammed a fist into the mattress, the uselessness of it making her want to scream. She’d made a way out and she couldn’t get any of them through it.

Her vision wavered. The air in the room felt like it was pressing down on her lungs. She needed to move it, get it circulating. Anything. She ripped the cover from the bed in one violent motion and began flapping it wildly, sending waves of stale, dust-thick air across the room. The fabric snapped and billowed, stirring motes that danced in the weak light.

Her arms ached almost immediately, but she kept going, forcing the air to move, hoping it would somehow make a difference and dissipate whatever Florence had released into the room.

The edges of her vision began to blur. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her. Each breath seemed harder to draw in than the last. She stumbled, dropping the cover, her hands braced on her knees. The floor swayed gently beneath her, like the deck of a boat.

“No…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She tried to straighten, to take another step toward Swift, but her knees gave, and she sank to the floor.

And she knew, with a horrible, sinking clarity, that she was going down too.

The world was soft. There was no more pain, or pressure, or walls pressing in on her. A blanket of air covered her and the rustle of leaves high above her head made Annie take a beat. She could smell damp earth and pine sap, hear the low, distant hum of voices.

Am I dead?

She lay still, afraid to open her eyes and see nothing at all. A cool breeze ghosted over her skin, carrying with it the scent of trees from somewhere far away. Then a shadow fell across her face. Warmth touched her cheek, the soft weight of a hand.

“Annie?”

Her eyes snapped open.

The sky was a fractured navy blue above her, filtered through the canopy of trees. And leaning over her, pale-faced but very much alive, was Tink. The young DS’s eyes were wide, wet, searching her face as if to make sure she was really there.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, relief breaking in her voice. “You’re awake.”

Annie blinked up at her, throat working against the knot of confusion. “Tink…?”

“You’re safe,” Tink said quickly, glancing over her shoulder at someone Annie couldn’t see. “We got you out.”

The words took a moment to land. Annie felt the grass beneath her palms, the cool air filling her lungs. She was alive, but Annie’s relief lasted all of three seconds before panic surged up in its place. She jolted, trying to sit, her hands scrabbling against the damp earth.

“The others.” Her voice cracked. “Swift, god Tink, we have to get⁠—”

Tink pressed gently on her shoulder, trying to keep her down. “Annie, it’s okay.”

“No, you don’t understand, they are still in there!” Annie’s breath came too fast, the trees above her spinning. “I must have fallen out the gap in the wall… I don’t even remember getting out. I need to go back.”

“Annie, stop. You didn’t fall out of the house.” Tink laughed.

Annie’s head whipped toward her, confusion knotting tight in her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re all out,” Tink said, her smile trembling with exhaustion. “Swift, Page, Evans, every single one of them.”

Annie stared at her, trying to make the words make sense. “But… how?”

“Your hole in the wall may not have led you to this wonderland,” Tink said simply. “But it saved you. It gave you all enough fresh air that the cyanide in the antidote bottle didn’t finish the job.” She leaned closer, her palm warm against the side of Annie’s face. “You saved them, Annie. And by sending me and Robins away, you saved us too. They gave me a shot of something and I’m going to need a heavy dose of antibiotics but I’m going to be okay.”

“And the others?”

Tink’s face scrunched in a tiny moment of doubt, but she pulled on a smile and nodded.

“They’re safe.”

It wasn’t an answer, not really. Safe didn’t mean they’d be okay. For a moment, Annie just stared. The trees swayed overhead, and for the first time since she’d stepped into Keyhouse, she let herself believe they might actually be free.

Annie let the relief wash over her in shaky waves until movement on the other side of the clearing caught her attention.

Two uniformed officers were hauling someone toward the waiting police van. Her dark, red hair was tangled, her clothes streaked with dirt, her hands cuffed in front of her. Even from a distance, Annie knew exactly who it was. Florence.

She fought against the grip of the officers with the same defiance she’d worn in the basement, chin high, mouth twisted in a cold smile. The scene was almost exactly as Annie remembered from Foxton all those years ago. Florence being marched away, fury simmering beneath the surface, still convinced she was the smartest person in the room. Their eyes met across the clearing.

“I wanted you to feel it,” Florence screamed, her voice slicing through the distance. “I needed you to work out that Isodora hadn’t killed Greybriar. She gave the locket to the maid to kill her instead. It was the maid who did it. Don’t you see? I was simply making sure Levi was still mine again?”

Annie’s hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. She wanted to shout back, to tell Florence she was psychotic. But she didn’t waste her breath.

One of the officers glanced back toward Annie. “You’re lucky your colleagues managed to get out and call for backup,” he said grimly. “We found dozens of victims, looks like she’s been practising for a while in this little theatre of horrors. All so she could put you guys in it. I don’t even want to know what you did to feel that kind of wrath.”

Annie’s stomach turned cold. She looked back at Florence, but the officers were already shoving her into the van. Florence didn’t resist anymore, but the smile didn’t drop from her face.

The van doors slammed shut, but the sound brought Annie no comfort. Florence needed to be locked away for the rest of her life because if she ever got out, Annie knew her team would never be safe again.

“Come on,” Tink murmured, looping an arm around Annie and steering her toward the waiting ambulance. Annie let herself lean into her friend, as behind them, the van pulled away into the trees, taking Florence with it.

But even as the trees swallowed the van, Annie couldn’t shake the feeling that Florence’s threats would never truly be gone.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Three Weeks Later

The early evening light streamed through the windows of Swift’s living room. The August heat pressed against the glass, but inside, the house felt cool and calm. Just the kind of calm that felt precious after what they’d been through.

They’d drifted here one by one over the course of the day, the need to be together still strong even three weeks after they’d escaped Keyhouse. It wasn’t a formal catch-up, Annie didn’t think they’d ever organise something formal outside of work ever again, but it was nice for most of them to get together and be in the same space again. Only Robins had returned to work so far, so she was filling Swift in on the gossip that had circulated around the office when Annie padded into the room with a tray of drinks for those present.

She sat it on the coffee table and curled herself into the corner of a huge leather sofa, bare feet tucked under her. Tink had taken the other end, barefoot too, wearing shorts and a loose shirt, hair ruffled messily on her head. Ben, who had barely left her side since the incident, was sitting with an arm draped over her shoulder, a new member of their small gang. One who had shown up for them just when they needed him. He might not quite get their sarcastic humour yet, but Annie could see he was there for the long run.

She smiled at Evans who was stretched out on the chaise lounge with a cool glass of lemonade in his hand. And Swift, for the first time in a long time, looked entirely at ease in his favourite chair. Annie blew him a kiss which he grabbed and held to his face with a grin.

Across the room, Robins leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Before I forget,” she said, scanning the team members in the room. “You’ll all be glad to know Florence has been readmitted to a secure hospital. I got word this morning from the CPS.”

A collective exhale swept through the room. Annie hadn’t realised how tightly she’d been holding herself until that moment.

Robins’s expression tightened as she went on. “Turns out she somehow slipped the net when she turned nineteen. Was released by accident because the transfer from child to adult services is a complete mess. The process needs proper funding, and surprise, surprise there isn’t any.”

“Bureaucracy at its finest.” Swift’s mouth twisted into a grimace.

“She should never have been let out in the first place,” Robins continued “If the system actually worked, we wouldn’t have lost more than a dozen people on her bloody test runs for the horror show she’d been cooking up these last three years. Apparently she’d been raving to anyone who would listen that everything she’d ever done was out of love for Levi. She said the whole set up in Keyhouse was to make you all see that she was framed, and by working out that the wife didn’t actually kill the husband deliberately, then maybe you’d understand that she didn’t have a choice but to kill those girls back when she was at school. What a mess.”

Annie nodded, she knew that there was no reasoning with people like Florence. All they saw was their side of the story and they’d do whatever they could to get what they wanted. Even if that meant embalming a dead lover so she could keep him to herself forever. Poor Levi.

A silence filled the room where Robins’ words had once been. They all seemed to drift back, just for a moment, into the memory of what they’d survived. Annie could feel the panic start to rise in her chest, but the warmth of the sun and the nearness of her friends kept her anchored in the now.

“Not quite the same without Page here, is it?” Swift said, rubbing his face with his hand.

Tink smiled faintly. “No. He should be right here making a mess of your carpets because he can never have drink without spilling it somehow.”

Evans chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, what was that all about? He tipped a full iced mocha over my desk the last time he popped to the mortuary.”

Ben grinned. “Probably doing it right now, wherever he is.”

Annie swirled the ice in her glass before raising it in a silent toast to the DS who won over everyone’s heart. “Yeah, I hope he’s having fun.”

Even as she said it, the images came back in sharp, unwelcome flashes. Page sprawled pale and broken on the gurney as the paramedics had wheeled him from Keyhouse, both legs splinted, ribs taped, the ugly swelling at his temple. The doctors had been blunt about the fact that the head injury could go either way. For days it had been touch and go, each hour feeling like a lifetime. As soon as Annie had been given the all clear she’d alternated her time between watching over Swift and Page. She’d sat at Page’s bedside, watching the slow, steady beep of the monitor, wondering if she’d ever hear him tease Tink again. Her nose stung at the memory and words clogged her throat. Luckily, Tink always knew what to say in these situations.

“I can tell you right now that Page will be having a whale of a time,” she said. “In fact, I can do better than that, I can show you.”

She took her phone from her pocket and tapped the screen, turning it around so the team could see the smiling selfie of Page with his gran. The rails of a tall cruise ship stood in the background and the water below looked like it was photoshopped it was so turquoise.

“They’ve just arrived in St Kitts,” Tink went on, leaning back against the sofa with a smug little nod. “He messaged me yesterday. Says the cruise sets sail for Antigua overnight.”

There was a ripple of laughter around the room, the tension lifting like condensation in the sunshine.

“He’s earned a break,” Evans replied. “If anyone deserves a holiday, it’s him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many broken bones on one person.”

“I wonder if they’re letting him swim with all those casts on,” Tink pondered, looking again at her phone.

“He’d sink,” Annie exclaimed. “He’s going to have one very interesting sun tan when he gets home.”

They all smiled at the image of Page, out in the sun, far from the shadows of Keyhouse. The thought settled in Annie’s chest like a warm hug. He was all right. They were all all right.

Robins took a long sip of her drink, then set it down with a decisive clink.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” she said. “When Page gets back, I think we should plan another team-building day to make up for⁠—”

“NO,” everyone else shouted almost at once, taking Robins by surprise.

She laughed and the rest of them joined in.

“No more team building days, ever again,” Swift said, lifting his glass. “To always working.”

“To always working,” everyone joined in his cheers.

Laughter filled the space, spilling into the warm August air drifting through the open windows. They’d played, they’d survived, and now they were free. Whatever came next, they’d face it together. And for now, that was enough to make Annie smile.

Join O’Malley & Swift on their fourteenth adventure!

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ALSO BY K.T. GALLOWAY

Annie and Joe will be returning in December, you can pre-order their next adventure now!

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The O’Malley & Swift adventures available to buy now!

CORN DOLLS

Their first case sees Annie and Joe on the hunt for a young girl who is missing. Snatched from her home during a game of hide and seek. Left behind in her place is a doll crudely twisted from stalks of corn.

FOXTON GIRLS

When a spate of suicides occur at prestigious girls' school, Foxton's, Psychotherapist Annie O'Malley is called in to talk with the students.

What Annie finds are troubled young girls full of secrets and lies; and a teacher caught in the midst.

WE ALL FALL DOWN

When a young woman falls ill and dies after a night out, her friends blame a cloaked figure that had been stalking them in the streets. A masked face with hooked beak, immediately recognisable as a Plague Doctor.

THE HOUSE OF SECRETS

With a lead on her missing sister, Annie and Joe travel north and rent a small cottage in the village where Mim was last spotted. Only, the village has a dark history of its own. The cottage was home to a family who haven’t been seen in over forty years. Their things still packed away in the basement, awaiting their return. It's a macabre destination for the dark tourist, and the rest of the village isn't much more welcoming.

THE UNINVITED GUEST

Back in Norfolk and back to work, Annie O’Malley and DI Swift are called to an isolated seaside village and the exclusive Paradise Grove Spa. Renowned for its peace and tranquility, the spa and its staff offer the chance to relax and recuperate in a discrete private setting on its own causeway. So when a dead body turns up in one of the rooms with no clue to who he is or how he got there, suspicion falls on the secretive group of guests.

DEADLY GAMES

When Annie and Joe are called to the local park to investigate reports of vandalism, they begin one of the most harrowing cases of their career. The vandal is a scared young woman with a bomb strapped to her chest and a list of games she must play. As the games get more gruesome, the young woman has a choice to make; kill or be killed.

ONE LAST BREATH

After the distress of Annie O’Malley’s last case, she’s in need of a bit of rest and recuperation. So her sister, Mim, books them on a flight to a luxury all inclusive resort in Spain for a break. But what was supposed to be a chance to sip sangria and reconnect with each other after so long apart soon turns into something terrifying when a group of armed men storm the hotel and take the guests hostage.

VANISHING ACT

When the celebrated illusionist, Gabriel Mirage, is found dead in the midst of his own vanishing act, O’Malley and Swift are thrust into a realm where the truth is as elusive as the disappearing act itself.

CHILL PILL

Annie finally reconnects with her father, only for him to be arrested and beaten to a coma. Can she and Swift clear his name so Annie can find out the truth of her childhood before it’s too late?

BLEEDING HEARTS

In the game of love, losing your heart can be deadly. When six bodies are found in an abandoned pool, hearts missing, O'Malley and Swift race to stop a killer with a twisted message. Can they unravel the truth before another heart is stolen

THE GHOST PORTRAIT

When renowned artist, Eliza Warren, prepares her final exhibition, one portrait refuses to stay silent. The unfinished painting of a woman shifts, her face twisting with a sinister life of its own. As shadows close in, Eliza realises her masterpiece isn’t just art—it’s a deadly secret waiting to be unleashed.

ESCAPE ROOM

A team day out descends into chaos when the Escape Room doesn’t want to let them go. Pitted against deadly tasks and each other, can the MCU make it out alive?