“And it fits the length of the passcode,” I say, catching on, excitement fizzing through me. “Wait, I’ll read the pages out—”

He’s already waiting by the door, his fingers poised over the lock.

“Five …” I almost drop the menu in my eagerness to turn the page. “Nine … two … seven … one.”

I hold my breath as he enters the final number. There’s a beat of perfect silence, both of us staring hard at the door as if we can somehow unlock it with our minds, and just as doubt starts to creep in, the lock buzzes.

“Oh my god, we are so good at this,” I say, grinning wide as I spin around and lift my hand in the air for a high five.

He blinks in surprise. Then he high-fives me back, and for only a moment, I see an alternative history sprawled out between us, where we might have been childhood friends instead of enemies, playing made-up games under the shade of an old oak. Where he hadn’t devoted his life to making mine miserable. Where he hadn’t lied and destroyed everything.

The whine of the door snaps through my thoughts.

I can’t see where it leads. It’s pitch-black on the other side; if I weren’t factoring in the escape room’s limited budget, and all the potential lawsuits such a setup would invite, I’d think there was a gaping void waiting for us to fall straight in.

“Let’s go,” Cyrus calls. “Stick close to me—”

But he’s barely spoken when something leaps out at us from the darkness.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cyrus lets out a high-pitched, Oscar-nominated-horror-movie scream.

This is far more noteworthy than the ghosts that have surrounded us in the crimson glow of the main dining area. I only really glance at them—their blood-splattered faces; their long, tangled wigs drooping over their pale robes; their bright red contacts—out of politeness and appreciation for their efforts. Despite my complete lack of reaction, they’re still throwing themselves into their performance, moving their limbs jerkily as they reach toward me.

I turn away from them to raise my brows at Cyrus, so many taunts rushing into my mind at once that I almost give myself a headache trying to decide which one to aim at him first.

“Don’t,” Cyrus says with a warning look before I can even open my mouth. “I was merely startled—”

“That was definitely a scream,” I say.

“That was a small sound of surprise,” he argues. “A stranger’s face appeared out of nowhere, and I behaved how any normal person would.”

“Yes. By screaming.”