At last, she reached the first trapdoor hidden beneath a weathered step ladder, its surface rough and cold beneath her trembling fingers. As she lifted the hatch, the stale scent of damp wood and earth seeped upward, mingling with the cold air. The cramped stairwell spiraled down into a swallowing blackness.
Gene stepped cautiously onto the narrow wooden steps, each creak a sharp crack in the silence that immediately swallowed her whole.
She passed through the old bomb shelter, a cramped, low-ceilinged space cluttered with forgotten supplies and yellowing books. A place that once promised safety, now only decay. At the far end, she found the narrow ladder leading up into Maisie's quarters.
Gene climbed slowly, wincing as the second trapdoor let out a groaning creak. She pushed it open just enough to slip into the soft lamplight above. The scent of old paper and dried lavender met her, familiar and grounding, so unlike the cold, metallic breath of the tunnels below.
Igor lay on the grand bed, still unconscious. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, and the faint light brushed against his pale skin, softening the bruises and blood crusted at his hairline. Near the window, Maisie sat on the edge of a cot they'd pulled in, shoulders slumped, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Gene's chest tightened. She crept over, kneeling beside Igor and brushing a lock of damp, red hair off his forehead. At least here, for now, he was safe.
Then, the trapdoor, which she thought she had carefully kept open, slammed shut.
Maisie jerked upright, startled, her blanket falling to the floor. Her eyes locked on Gene in alarm, heart thudding, not yet processing. "Gene?!"
Her breath caught as a shadow emerged from the corner near her desk. For one wild second, she thought it might be an intruder, until the figure stepped into the faint shaft of moonlight pooling through the curtains.
Gene looked like she'd been through a storm. Her clothes were damp at the hem, her hair frayed from sweat and static, and her eyes burned with exhaustion and something deeper, fear, maybe.
"Yes, it's me."
"What the hell?" Maisie whispered, scrambling out of the cot. "I thought you were asleep!"
"I had to check something," Gene muttered, closing the trapdoor gently behind her. "I went to the surveillance hub. I had to make sure the footage didn't show him."
Maisie's heart dropped. "You left? You went through the tunnels alone…what if someone saw…"
"No one did," Gene said sharply. "I checked everything. Every camera angle. He's not in it. We got lucky."
Maisie crossed her arms, trying to steady her breathing. "You could've told me. You scared me half to death."
Gene didn't answer right away. She moved over to Igor's bedside instead, checking the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was still out cold. Still alive. That much was a comfort.
But Gene's fingers trembled slightly as she withdrew.
"I think something's wrong," she said quietly. "There's… something in the system. A virus, maybe. It's wiping data."
Maisie stiffened. "Wiping?"
"Cleansing," Gene corrected herself. "Everything it touches, logs, records, thermal signatures, gone. Even the backup files. Like someone doesn't just want to cover tracks… they want to erase all signs of intruders."
Maisie's voice dropped, strained. "Are you saying it's from them? From the Angels?"
"I don't know yet," Gene admitted, pacing. "But it's smart. It activated right after we came through the tunnels. Almost like it was waiting."
Maisie processed this, jaw tightening. "So we brought Igor here, and now there's a virus eating through the house's surveillance like bleach?"
Gene met her eyes. "Yes."
For a long beat, they stared at each other.
Then Maisie's voice cracked, low with disbelief: "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Gene blinked. "I just did."
"No," Maisie snapped, stepping forward. "You went off alone, through god knows what kind of danger, and left me here without a word. You keep doing this, taking everything on like I'm some little kid who can't handle…" Her eyes furrowed.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't have to. You treat me like it."
"I was trying to protect you!" Gene's voice broke, louder than she meant. She dropped it to a whisper again, looking at Igor. "And him. If this virus is doing more than cleaning footage, if it's tied to some kind of protocol, we're running out of time."
Maisie's throat tightened, her eyes glinting with something between panic and fury. "You should've trusted me."
Gene looked away. "Maybe."
Silence lingered between them like a fog.
Outside, the wind whispered against the glass panes, and somewhere deeper in the estate, a hum of unseen machinery flickered back to life, too quiet for the untrained ear, but Gene heard it. So did Igor's body. He twitched in his sleep.
Maisie glanced at him, then back at Gene, her voice lower. "What do we do?"
Gene answered without hesitation.
"Next step is to make sure this virus doesn't have a secondary directive. If it does… he might be in more danger than we thought. We might have to leave the Mansion."
Gene rose from Igor's side and moved toward the window, her voice low but urgent. "We can't stay here much longer. Leo and Dash, they'd probably want to rush in and fight their way out. But we need to be smarter than that. They might know about some kind of retreat, a safe place we haven't found yet. Their insight could give us an edge, help us avoid traps or find hidden exits. We have to talk to them first and get a clear picture before making any moves. If we act blindly, we'll be walking right into their hands."
She glanced back at Maisie, who nodded slowly, the weight of the situation settling over them both.