The air in the archive room was dense with the scent of old paper and dust, each breath filling Lottie's lungs with the weight of forgotten years. The heavy wooden door creaked faintly on its hinges as it settled shut behind her, sealing her inside a world of yellowed pages and brittle whispers. The dim glow of a single overhead light flickered against the spines of countless books, casting wavering shadows that danced across the tiled floor like restless ghosts.
Lottie's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the stack of newspapers resting atop a filing cabinet, their edges frayed with age. She exhaled slowly, willing her hands to steady, the soft rustle of paper loud in the silence as she unfolded the top clipping. The black-and-white headline stared up at her: Local Child Missing – Police Investigation Ongoing. Her pulse quickened, a hard thud against her ribs, as she traced the faded type with her fingertip, the chill of the paper sinking into her skin.
The words blurred for a moment as her eyes darted across the page, drinking in every detail—the date, the neighborhood, the desperate quote from grieving parents. A name caught her eye, sharp as a blade in the fog of memory: Eleanor Grace Hayes. The name thrummed through her like a struck chord, vibrating against a half-forgotten memory buried deep in her chest.
A shaky breath slipped from her lips, the sound barely audible over the crackle of paper. She fumbled for her phone, thumb sliding instinctively over the screen as she snapped photo after photo of the article, the faint shutter sound ticking in time with her racing heartbeat. Her mind spun, threads of half-formed theories tangling and knotting in her thoughts. She knew this name—knew it like a splinter under the skin, too small to see but impossible to forget.
A sudden, sharp noise cracked through the quiet—the soft scrape of a shoe against stone. Lottie's head snapped up, her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide as they darted toward the doorway. A shadow shifted just beyond the threshold, long and lean in the dim light, and her fingers tightened involuntarily on the newspaper. The rustle of fabric, the faintest hitch of a breath—and then Leo stepped into view, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes glittering with silent amusement.
"Digging for buried treasure, Hayes?" His voice was low, edged with humor, but the sharp glint in his gaze belied the casual tone. He leaned against the doorframe, one boot braced against the wall, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Lottie's heart skittered in her chest, the surge of adrenaline leaving her breathless. "What are you doing here?" she managed, her voice soft but laced with steel. She stuffed the clippings into her folder with swift, practiced motions, fingers brushing the cold metal of the cabinet as she moved.
Leo tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking to the folder with pointed curiosity. "Funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing." His gaze sharpened, the amusement fading just enough to reveal the flicker of something more—something keen, assessing. "Didn't peg you for the nostalgic type."
The edge in his voice scraped against her nerves, but Lottie forced herself to smile, the expression tight and brittle. "I guess we all have our hobbies," she murmured, slipping the folder under one arm, her fingers curling protectively around it. The weight of the papers felt heavy, solid against her side, a fragile shield against the storm she felt gathering just beyond the door.
A faint sound drifted through the hallway—light, lilting, unmistakable. Evelyn's laughter, soft as silk, floated down the corridor like the tolling of a bell. Lottie's jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as she drew a slow breath through her nose. The sound grated along her spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Her pulse drummed faster, an electric thrum under her skin.
Leo's eyes flicked toward the sound, his mouth curving into a knowing smile. "Looks like the queen's on patrol," he murmured, his voice pitched low. "You planning to sneak past, or should we both start running?"
Lottie's lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk flashing before it was smothered by the sharp press of resolve. "I'll manage," she murmured, stepping forward with measured grace. Her shoulder brushed briefly against Leo's as she passed, the fleeting contact sparking a jolt of awareness through her skin. The faintest whisper of his breath ghosted against her temple as he leaned in just slightly.
"Be careful, Hayes," he murmured, the words barely audible. "You're not the only one who knows how to play games."
The words lingered in her ears as she slipped into the hallway, the cool air biting at her skin. Her steps were light, barely a whisper on the worn tiles, and her breath moved in measured currents, steadying the wild pulse in her throat. The weight of the folder pulled at her arm, a constant reminder of the questions now churning through her mind.
The corridor stretched ahead in dim, flickering light, the walls lined with faded portraits and old plaques. Lottie's fingers brushed briefly against the cool plaster, grounding herself as she moved. Her skin tingled, the fine hairs on her arms prickling as Evelyn's laughter echoed faintly again, closer this time, a delicate thread of sound winding through the hush.
She slipped into an alcove, the shadowed space offering a brief reprieve, and drew a long breath, the chill of the air sharp against her tongue. The folder pressed cool and firm against her chest, the corners biting into her palm. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, the darkness behind her lids pulsing with the afterimage of old headlines, the weight of a name that refused to fade.
Eleanor Grace Hayes.
Her mind spun, weaving possibilities, unspooling questions she hadn't yet dared to ask. How did this forgotten name tie to Evelyn? What truth lay buried beneath the polished floors and perfect smiles? A flicker of determination sparked low in her belly, burning hot against the cool sweep of fear.
A sudden silhouette swept past the end of the hallway, Evelyn's familiar figure cutting through the dim light like a blade. Lottie's breath hitched, her body tensing as instinct pulled her back into the shadows. She watched, heart hammering, as Evelyn paused, the faintest tilt of her head betraying a flicker of suspicion. The air between them seemed to thrum, the invisible thread tightening as Evelyn's gaze swept the corridor.
A bead of sweat slid slowly down Lottie's spine, cool as ice, and she forced herself to remain still, every muscle locked tight. She could hear the soft click of Evelyn's heels against the floor, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap weaving through the silence like a countdown. Her fingers curled more tightly around the folder, the sharp edge biting into her skin, grounding her.
The sound faded slowly, the echo of footsteps retreating into the distance. Lottie exhaled softly, the breath slipping free on a trembling sigh. The rush of adrenaline left her lightheaded, her knees weak for a fleeting moment before she straightened, the sharp edge of resolve sliding back into place.
As she stepped from the alcove, a familiar figure waited near the far corner, half-hidden in shadow. Leo's gaze met hers, steady and unreadable, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. His arms were folded loosely across his chest, but the sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed the quiet tension humming beneath his casual stance.
For a beat, neither spoke, the silence between them stretched taut. Then, with a faint incline of his head, Leo murmured, "Find anything good?"
Lottie's lips curved in a brief, wry smile. "Good enough," she murmured, brushing past him with a whisper of fabric, the faint scent of dust and old paper clinging to her skin. The chill of the hallway wrapped around her like a second skin, and as she moved forward, the folder tucked securely under her arm, she felt the pulse of something shifting deep beneath the surface.
Her phone buzzed sharply against her hip, the sudden vibration jolting through her. She slid it free, thumb brushing across the screen as the message flashed into view. Father. Calling.
A tight knot twisted in her stomach, the surge of triumph flickering under the weight of unease. She drew a breath, straightening her spine, the cool press of the phone against her palm a stark reminder of the game she was playing—a game where every step forward meant another layer of risk.
As she lifted the phone to her ear, her eyes darted once more down the corridor. Evelyn's silhouette was gone, swallowed by the dim light, but the echo of her laughter still lingered, a faint thread winding through the hush. Lottie's fingers tightened briefly around the folder, the rustle of paper soft against her skin.
"Lottie." Her father's voice, clipped and cold, cut through the line like a blade. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, the familiar sting of approval withheld tightening in her chest.
As the hallway stretched out before her, empty but thrumming with invisible tension, Lottie smiled faintly, a flicker of steel sparking behind her calm. The night was far from over. And neither was the game.