Let's Kill Her (Book #1)

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The sound of a key sliding into a lock across the the room snaps me out of my awestruck moment. I run after Sehun and Sejeong to a door against the right wall. Sejeong lifts the latch and we practically dive into the dark room.

Sejeong eases our door closed just as we hear the outside one sing open. Sehun pushes us all flat against the wall. My shoulders are pressed between his and Sejeong's. It's significantly colder in here than outdoors, and I'm sure that if there were any light my breath would be visible. I inhale deeply to slow my heart and anchor my feet in a position where my weight won't shift.

The latch on the door lifts and I hold my breath, not daring to a millimeter. Dim light spills into the room, and so does an ominously long shadow of a very muscular guard. If he pushes the door open too far, he'll hit Sejeong, and if he comes in past the door, he'll see Sehun for sure.

He moves forward, his candle illuminating the room, and I find it nearly impossible to believe that he doesn't hear my heart. Light flickers off the shelves of cloth-covered ceramic pots. But just as quickly as it appeared, the light diminishes, and the door closes, casting us back into darkness.

Sejeong was not kidding when she said we'd barely have a second to spare. If she hadn't opened a single lock fats enough or if there had been a moment's delay somewhere, we would have been screwed.

Sehun's shoulder pulls away from mine as the outside door closes and locks. I let out my breath like I'm a deflating balloon. To my left, Sejeong strikes a match and lights a candle.

Sehun heads for what looks like an oversized wooden closet, with four square doors and one tall, narrow one. My heart thuds. The cold temperature . . . Oh, please, no. I shake my head, like maybe I can convince Sehun by telepathy not to open the tall compartment. Next to the closet is a long table, and I feel my eyes bulging as I take in two sets of what look like bloody clothes and shoes and a stack of antique hospital tools.

Sehun undoes the hooked latch on the tall compartment. My brain screams at me to close my eyes, but I can't manage to look away. And just as I feared, the X guard is standing upright inside, frozen white with his eyes half open. I take two bumbling steps back and cover my mouth with my hand.

Sejeong brings the candle to his face, accentuating his frozen features.

"No bruises or cut," Sehun says in a hushed voice, and inspects the guard's hands. "His knuckles don't have any marks, so there wasn't much of a struggle. Maybe he was outnumbered?"

"Nothing to suggest he took a hit to the face, either," Sejeong whispers, and leans in to get a closer look at the gash across his neck.

"That's strange," she says. "The cut isn't a clean line. I couldn't tell in the hallway when he was covered in blood."

"What does that mean?" I ask. "Did someone use a serrated blade?"

"No," she says, and frowns. "The wound isn't uniform enough for that, either."

Sehun leans closer and his eyes widen. For the first time ever, he looks rattled. "Glass, Jeong. I would bet anything that it was glass - sharp enough to cut deeply and easily, jagged enough to make a much sloppier cut."

My chest tightens, and his reaction suddenly makes perfect sense. "The broken glass from my room. Do you think . . . ," I say, and my voice trails off.

"Yes. Someone must have gotten a piece of it before Sohee could dispose of it," Sejeong says, nodding.

"Wait . . . I don't know if this is a big deal," I say, "but Jimin had a cut on his palm in poisons class. I remember thinking that it wasn't there in fencing the day before, which was the day I was actually looking for cuts because of the blood message on my floor."