Chapter 7 - Nathan Took the Hall Back
I heard him before I saw anything because the hatch cover was down again and the dark had closed over me.
The marble carried sound too well. A second set of shoes came across it, slower than the others, unhurried. I knew that walk. I had listened to it upstairs for three days through stone and wood, counting the pauses. My chest went tight and I pressed my bound hands against my mouth to keep my breathing small.
Nathan was in the hall.
"Well," he said. His voice was even, almost amused. It reached me muffled through the thin line around the hatch. "What's all this?"
Nobody answered at first. I pictured it from what I could hear — Mia trembling near the suited man's leg, the other man back by the staircase where he always waited. I wanted to call out and I bit down on my own knuckle instead. The rope burned against my wrists when I moved.
I heard the suited man shift his weight. His shoes scraped lightly on the marble as if he had stepped just in front of Mia.
"She heard knocking," he said, quiet. "Downstairs."
A pause stretched. I counted my own heartbeats inside it. Then Nathan laughed once, short.
"She hears a lot of things," he said. "She's six. Her mother is gone and she's confused."
The word gone landed hard in my stomach. He said it so cleanly, like it was settled paperwork. I pressed my forehead to the cold edge of the stone beside the hatch and tried not to shake. Above me, Mia made a small sound. Not words. Just air catching.
"She said three days," the suited man said. His tone stayed low. Restrained. "I heard it too. Under the floor."
I held my breath. Don't, I thought. Don't say more. Not with him standing there.
Nathan's shoes moved a few steps. Marble, then a duller sound where the rug runner lay near the mirror wall. He was walking the room the way he did when he owned it.
"You've been in this house one hour," Nathan said. "I've run it for years. You know what this place does? It talks. Pipes. Heat. Old stone settling. A kid misses her mom, every creak turns into knocking."
"It wasn't pipes," the suited man said.
"It was enough to scare her," Nathan said, and his voice changed, just a fraction harder. "Mia, come here."
I heard her bare feet hesitate on marble. She didn't move toward him. I could feel it — my girl planting herself. My throat ached with pride and fear at the same time.
"Mia," Nathan said again.
"She's all right where she is," the suited man said.
Silence fell again, heavier this time. I imagined the two men looking at each other across the bright hall, the mirror doubling them. The man by the stairs said nothing. I had never heard him speak, not once in three days, only his footsteps when he brought Nathan down to check the lock.
Then Nathan exhaled through his nose. I knew that sound too. Control being put back on like a jacket.
"Listen," he said. "I get it. You're trying to help. But you don't know the situation. Her mother left. That's the truth. I've kept it quiet to protect Mia. Running around lifting floor panels is only going to make it worse for her."
He took another step. I heard his shoe stop right over me. The hatch cover was between his sole and my face, maybe six inches of wood and air. Dust sifted down onto my cheek when he shifted. I froze with my hands still pressed to my mouth.
"Everyone away from that corner," Nathan said. "Now."
Mia whimpered. I heard fabric move as the suited man lifted her, quick, and stepped back. His shoes crossed the marble away from the hatch. Three steps. Four. He was obeying. He had to.
"Good," Nathan said. "This part of the floor is old. I don't want anyone falling through. I'll have it checked tomorrow."
Tomorrow. The lie was so smooth I almost admired it. Tomorrow meant never. Tomorrow meant time to move me.
His shoe lifted off the wood above my head. I heard him walk back toward the staircase, toward the other man.
May you like
"Keep her upstairs," he told someone. "No more wandering. And you —" A pause aimed at the suited man. "We’ll talk in my office."
Footsteps split then. Two pairs going one way, one pair staying. I waited in the dark with rope cutting into my skin, counting until the hall went quiet, forcing myself not to make a sound while my daughter was carried away from me again.
