Chapter 7

The door was old, its frame warped with age. Every instinct told Adrian to walk away, to pretend he hadn’t found it. But something in him—something foreign—drove him forward. His hand reached for the knob. It turned easily. The room beyond was dark, impossibly so. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and something metallic. As Adrian stepped inside, the whispers returned, a chorus of hushed voices, speaking his name. Then the lights flickered on. The room was filled with pictures. Of him. And in the center, tied to a chair, was Simon.