Emma, without thinking much, began pressing more buttons. I hissed for her to stop, but her small fingers moved too fast. With a sharp click, one of the monitors switched.
Not the hall. Not the kitchen.
But us.
The very room we stood in, caught from the corner above the door. The image was grainy, but clear enough.
Emma gasped, stumbling back until she bumped into me. Cold swept through my veins.
I gripped the broken chain still wrapped around my wrist and pulled Emma close. "We cannot stay here," I whispered fiercely. "Not anymore."
Her small hand clutched mine tight. She nodded, fear wide in her eyes, but she did not argue.
I grabbed a handful of papers and shoved them under my shirt. Maybe proof. Maybe nothing, but I could not leave them behind. Then I pulled Emma toward the far side of the room. Half-hidden behind old cabinets was another door.
The hum of the machines followed us. The static seemed to grow louder, like whispers crawling over the walls.
