Blood Roses
Inés pivoted, north wing, maids’ quarters.
Instead, she slipped south.
***
The laundry room was empty.
She locked the door, pulled out her phone, and snapped blurry pictures of the notebook page lodged in her memory. Names, dates, PROJECT 5D, scribbled as best she could recall.
Not proof, but a breadcrumb.
A floorboard creaked.
Inés’ stomach dropped.
She shoved the phone into her pocket and turned.
Gabriel filled the doorway. A silent wall in charcoal suit.
“How did you…? The door….?”
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