Celeste;
Heart slamming against my ribcage, I continue taking slow, risky steps toward the half-open door.
Sweat drips and pools along my spine and lower back, a knot of anxiety nestled in my chest.
Silence drenches the entire atmosphere again in its heavy, tangible presence, and I hold my breath with it.
I edge forward, watching through the darkness so I don't alert whoever is on the other side by bumping into anything.
I hear my own blood rushing in my ears as I approach the door. My brows draw tight as I lean in, pressing my ear to the wood to gauge any sound.
Shallow breaths slip out in small bursts.
When I hear nothing more, relief washes through me like ice water over jagged rocks. With determination steeling my spine, I palm the knob.
Not without casting a fleeting glance over my shoulder at the shelf drawer—with a lingering promise to return for whatever lies beneath that false bottom.
