Chapter Thirty-Eight - Free Falling
Jalen’s good eye flicked to the hole. “Laundry,” he rasped. “Old chute… on second floor… feeds east wall.” He coughed, the sound scraping. “Maybe… here, too.”
She froze. “How do you know?”
“Jack… likes to talk.” The edges of his mouth tugged bitter. “Said you’d never find… half the exits.”
Exits. Her pulse leapt. She went to the wall opposite the door and knocked, gently—one, two, three, listening for hollowness. Solid. She moved a pace to the right. Knock. Solid. Another pace. Knock—and a different note, a small, skin-prickling thud instead of a bone-deep thunk.
She crouched (curse the leg) and pressed her palm to the baseboard. Cold air breathed there, just enough to stir the hairs on her wrist.
“There you are,” she whispered. She slid the chair
