Cellar 13 の小説・ストーリー

Ida growls in agreement. The next day during my break, I slip into the kitchen, pretending I am there to take my lunch. When the maids take their break, I head to the back of the kitchen where the wine cellar is and slip in quickly. The cellar is dark so I slip my bracelet off and use Ida’s eyes to see in the dark space. “I don’t see anything.” I’m at the back of the cellar now and I see nothing but a dead end. I sigh and begin to turn away when Ida stops me. “Wait, look there.” At first, I don’t see what caught her attention but then I see it. On the dead end wall, there’s a small, barely visible latch and a very thin line that runs from the bottom of the floor to the top.

“If we could find one more bottle, that should be fine. Then we can take one of the newer bottles.” Calissa carefully examines the dusty bottle, her fingers tracing its intricate design as she grins in satisfaction. She gently places it in the wicker basket we brought down to the dimly lit wine cellar with us. The room is musty, and the air is thick with the scent of aged oak barrels and fermented grapes. As we continue our search, the sound of our footsteps echoes through the cavernous space.

he tells me, pointing to the hole in the floor, and I follow him through. I expect to see another passage leading somewhere else, but what's revealed inside surprises me. We're in a cellar, just like the one upstairs. Except there's a large table in the middle of the room. On one of its sides is a set of chains, attached to hooks in the ceiling. A few boxes lie next to them, stacked up high. The boxes are labeled with the letters, but other than that they aren't particularly interesting. It isn't until Xavier opens one of them that my eyes widen.

EPILOGUE In the cellar, Sebastian couldn’t help but feel sick of the situation. Stefan and Donnovan, together in the same situation. Donnovan, the same stupid man that had toyed Juliette and now, he had tried to kill her baby. He couldn’t just let him get away with that. The only way he was going to get out of there was dead.

The place was quiet, the workers having left for the day, but a note awaited them on the kitchen counter, scrawled in pencil on a torn piece of drywall. “You might want to check the cellar. We found something behind the old foundation wall.” Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Another secret stash of letters?” Leila shot him a look. “There’s only one way to find out.” The cellar was colder than she remembered, the earth clinging to the walls, and the solitary exposed bulb overhead cast long, uncertain shadows. One section of the old stone wall had been carefully pulled back, revealing a narrow alcove lurking behind beams and old insulation, as if it had been waiting years for discovery.

Don’t rush. Think. The door was locked from the outside. At least one guard above at all times. Maybe two. Possibly more rotating shifts. I stood slowly. My legs trembled violently from hours of immobility. I staggered once. Steady. You don’t get to fall apart. I looked around the cellar properly now. Inventory. Crates, wooden. Heavy. Metal shelving, rusted but solid. Glass shards, limited. One loose brick in the far wall.

Just opened his arms and stepped aside. No questions. No judgment. Just that familiar calm he always wore when things got ugly. Inside the cellar, there was a cot, a few sealed food rations, and a single working terminal with its own private power source. Maris handed him the drive. “Julien decrypted half. We don’t have the second key.” Crane nodded once. “I’ll try to reconstruct it.” Cassian leaned in. “Before we give you access—we want to know one thing.” Crane looked up.

Honour Campbell Pushing the trolley, I whistled for Nutella. She run towards me but soon beat me and left me alone to pull the trolley to the sorting table next to the Wine cellar that has a capacity of holding just 500 bottles. Rest bottles are in the cellar near the city.

The final item, scrawled hastily in the manager’s neat, hateful hand, was unusual: "Clean and reorganize the Sub-Level Wine Cellar. Immediately." The wine cellar was a ghost space, unused since the family finished their last big political fundraiser. It was cold, dark, and utterly isolated , exactly the kind of place where a Grant could afford to lose his composure. My heart hammered with a terrible clarity. It wasn't Mr. Harrison who wanted the cellar clean. It was Ethan.