Chapter 6 - Shadows Along the Service Corridor
The fluorescent hum of the service corridor felt louder now that the deputy’s cruiser had retreated into the dark. I stood near the heavy oak service door, my fingers brushing against the cold brass ID tag still tucked deep inside my apron pocket. Sophia leaned against my hip, too quiet, her small fingers clutching the worn fabric of her pink dress. She didn't cry, which somehow felt worse than if she had wailed for her room. Her silence was a measure of how deeply the morning's terror had sunk into her small bones.
"We need to move before the shift changes," I whispered, keeping my voice low against the plaster walls.
The primary service exit led directly out toward the gravel courtyard, a wide-open stretch of manicured lawn that offered zero cover under the watchful eyes of the estate's motion-activated security lights. But there was another complication standing between us and freedom. As I cracked the heavy oak door open an inch, a pair of amber eyes gleamed back at me from the dark stoop.
Brutus, the massive one-hundred-and-thirty-pound black Rottweiler, lay curled across the threshold. He hadn't followed the guards back inside. He had stationed himself squarely in front of the only viable exit, his heavy head resting on his massive paws. His chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic breaths. When he heard the latch click, his ears flicked forward, but he didn't growl. He simply stared at me with an ancient, terrifying intelligence, blocking our path as effectively as any iron gate.
"He won't let us pass," Sophia whispered, her breath fogging the cool evening air in the doorway.
May you like
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as dust. The guards upstairs were busy debriefing the legal team, but it was only a matter of time before someone checked the lower quarters. I couldn't fight a dog of that size, and running would only trigger his predatory instincts. Remembering the weight of the studded leather collar resting in my apron, I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out the brass ID tag, letting its faint metallic clink catch the dog's attention.
Brutus stiffened. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of his own collar, the brass tag vibrating slightly as my hand trembled. He didn't bare his teeth; instead, he let out a low, rumbling sigh that shook the floorboards beneath my sensible black shoes. Inch by careful inch, I eased the door open further, using the tag as a silent anchor to draw his focus away from the courtyard, praying the security perimeter wouldn't snap on before we cleared the stone steps.
