Chapter 3 - The Cellar Shadow
Splinters of white-painted pine rained down upon Clara’s veil. The sharp report of the rifle blast echoed against the valley walls, sending the wedding guests screaming into chaotic flight. Mark grabbed Clara’s arm, his grip bruising, pulling her toward the heavy storm doors built into the barn’s stone foundation.
""Inside! Move!"" Mark yelled, his civilized veneer entirely shattered by primal panic.
Clara looked back through the chaos. Hawk was already moving with terrifying, practiced violence. He closed the distance between himself and the lead Jackal before the man could cycle another round, driving the heavy steel wrench into the attacker's forearm with a sickening crack. The rifle clattered onto the stones. But the other two riders were dismounting, pulling bludgeons and blades from their waistbands.
Mark shoved Clara down the narrow wooden stairs into the damp darkness of the cellar. The air smelled of wet earth, aged cedar, and rotting apples. Mark slammed the heavy double doors shut and threw the rusty iron bolt into place, breathing in ragged, choked gasps.
""What is happening, Clara?"" Mark shouted in the pitch-black space, his hands searching for her in the gloom. ""Who was that man? What did Marcus leave you?""
""I don't know!"" Clara sobbed, clutching the yellowed letter against her chest. ""My dad... he wrote that Marcus had a ledger. Something they were willing to kill for.""
Above them, boots pounded heavily across the floorboards. Heavy thuds and muffled groans filtered through the timber ceiling, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground outside.
May you like
Silence descended, heavy and suffocating. Clara reached into her pocket, feeling the brass key. Then, in the dim sliver of light filtering through the door gap, she noticed an old iron trunk sitting in the far corner—a trunk bearing the exact same lock as the key in her hand.
Before she could take a step, a floorboard creaked directly behind her in the dark cellar.
