Page 10 of In Darkness We Claim

It comes out easily, and I let out a triumphant laugh when I see the piece of paper stuffed into the gap behind it. I pull it out and straighten it as I stand back up, leaning my shoulder against the wall to counteract the way the room spins around me from my sudden movement.

I have to blink several times and squint to read the fancy cursive writing, doing it slowly so I’m able to fully take in the task instructions.

Pledge,

Somewhere in this warehouse is a guilty man.

He holds the key to your freedom.

You must deliver his punishment within the timeframe and escape, or your failure will be the death of you.

Be warned: not all are guilty,

and choosing an innocent man will seal your fate.

My head swims as I struggle to pick apart the instructions. Through the haze, I think I’ve figured out that there will be several men imprisoned here, but only one is guilty. Finding him is the key to my freedom, and passing this assignment, but I have no idea how I’ll tell the difference between an innocent man and a guilty one.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I move towards the door Xander exited through earlier. I walk as fast as I can, since I’m not entirely sure how much of my three-hour timeframe I’ve already wasted.

As soon as I step into the corridor, I breathe a sigh of relief that the lighting is fucking normal. It’s not so bright that it’s burning my eyes, or dark enough that I can’t see a fucking thing. Sadly, that relief quickly fades when I see rows of doors on either side that look like cells.

Each door is metal, with a small hole around head height that’s large enough for you to see through. You can lift the flap hanging underneath to cover the window. At around waist-height, there is what can only be described as a large letter box, which opens just enough for things—presumably food—to be passed through.

I make my way over to the first cell door and look through the small gap, seeing a man standing on the other side of the small box room, glaring at me. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a jumper, with scruffy white trainers. His hair is greasy, and his unkempt beard is long and patchy, suggesting he may have been here for a while.

There’s nothing visible that suggests whether he’s innocent or guilty, so I do the obvious thing and ask him. “Why are you here? What crime have you committed?”

He shakes his head slowly, fear sparkling in his eyes as his hands tremble. “I’m not allowed to answer questions. All I can say is: the guilty man holds the key to your freedom.”

His words almost perfectly match my instructions, and I’m embarrassed that my foggy brain took so long to make the obvious connection—I need to find a physical key.

Searching each of the cells is a little quicker now I know I’m looking for a man who is in possession of a key, though my movements are still more sluggish than I’d like, and I hate not knowing how much time I’ve already wasted.

I’m not sure how many cells I’ve looked in, or how much time has passed, but with each check that’s unsuccessful, I become more pissed off. My nerve endings are prickling, as if they’re coming back to life after being in a stupidly deep sleep, and my pulse is pounding loud enough to match the throbbing in my head.

Thankfully, the adrenaline coursing through me is helping to push the drugs from my system, and as my limbs become less heavy, I can move quicker. Though it still feels like there’s a few seconds lag between my brain and my body, which is why I take longer than I would like to realise this cell is different.

The man inside the small room dresses like all the others in a grey jumper and sweatpants, yet the large key hanging on a chain around his neck makes him noticeably different.

He looks to be in his late forties, with grey strands poking through his short brown hair. There’s a small amount of stubble, but nowhere near as much as the other prisoners here, suggesting he’s not been here as long. While the other men were thin and gaunt-looking, this man still has a bit of a beer belly, so he obviously hasn’t starved recently.

As his gaze locks with mine, the last of the colour drains from his pale face, and his eyes widen with fear. Although he balls his hands into fists and plants his legs firmly in a fighting stance, his whole body trembles. He looks terrified, and even without seeing the key, I’m sure I’ve got my man.

“You’re guilty.” I phrase it as a statement, not a question, and when he hangs his head in shame, I have my answer. “Give me the key.”

His eyes flick up to meet mine, and I see a spark of life as he quickly shakes his head. “No, I can’t. If I still have possession of the key when your time is up, I will have earned my freedom.”

I let out a harsh laugh as I glare at the idiot in front of me. “Is that what they told you? They’re lying. No matter what it is you’re guilty of, the Obsidian Order doesn’t just let people go. Even if I fail—which I won’t—they will just send someone else, and they’ll keep sending people until you’re dead.”

Deep down in his soul, he knows what I’m saying is true, but when faced with his own mortality, he’s planted firmly in denial. He is quick to tell me I’m wrong, but I don’t have time to argue with him. I need to finish this task before I end up a victim of my own theory.

I reach for the door handle, letting out a laugh when I find it unlocked. I was expecting to have to solve a bloody riddle just to get into his cell, and almost didn’t bother simply trying the door, but I’m glad I did.

The man takes a hesitant step back, trying to get away from me when I enter his cell, but it’s a tiny room, and he has nowhere to go. I keep advancing toward him, but his back is already against the wall behind him, caging him in and giving him no way to escape.

Just as I am thinking this is too easy, he reaches into his sweatpants pocket and pulls out a flip knife, flicking it open and holding it out in front of himself in a clear warning.

I should have bloody known they’d give him a weapon, while I’m drugged and moving at the speed of a fucking snail.