Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Service Corridor
The holding pantry smelled of damp concrete, old flour, and bleach. A single dim overhead bulb flickered inside a wire cage, casting long, wavering shadows across the rows of industrial shelving stocked with bulk linens and canned goods. My wrists throbbed where the security guard's fingers had clamped down, and the red makeup around my eyes felt caked and dry against my skin. I sat on an overturned wooden crate, staring at the concrete floor as the muffled bass of string instruments vibrated faintly through the ceiling overhead.
They would fire me by morning. Worse, in Luca Moretti’s world, people who knew things they shouldn't often simply vanished into the quiet corners of the city. But I couldn't just pack my single bag and slip out into the night. Not after hearing that melody drift down from the upper floor earlier that evening. Not after realizing that the ghost upstairs was real.
A sharp metallic click echoed from the heavy service door across the room. The automatic deadbolt turned once, then twice. Heavy footsteps approached down the concrete steps—only one set, slow and deliberate. It wasn't the guards coming to move me to a more permanent prison. It was someone alone.
I stood up slowly, wiping my palms against the black fabric of my apron. The door creaked open, revealing the narrow silhouette of old Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, her gray hair pinned back with severe precision. In her hand, she held a set of heavy iron skeleton keys. Her face was a mask of cold disappointment, but underneath the strict exterior, her eyes held a frantic, cautionary gleam.
"You fool, Rachel," she whispered harshly, stepping inside and locking the door behind her. "You absolute fool. Do you have any idea what you’ve stirred up tonight?"
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"I had to stop her," I whispered back, my voice shaking but resolute. "You heard it too, Mrs. Gable. Everyone up on the third floor hears it when the wind blows from the east. That wasn't just music."
Mrs. Gable pressed a bony finger to her lips, glancing nervously back at the hallway. "Listen to me very carefully. Mr. Moretti is currently distracted by the senator at the head table, but his men are watching every door. If you want to survive the night, you are going to take the laundry lift to the second-floor service landing. Go straight to the linen annex. Don't let anyone see you."
