I closed my door, leaning against it, my body trembling with a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and frustration. I had been so close, and yet I had failed on the first hurdle.
I went to my sock drawer, pulled out the cold iron key, and stared at it. It was too risky. The house wasn't asleep; it was listening.
My final monologue: They're awake now. They'll be listening for every creak. This is exactly what Oracle and those figures wanted: for me to be reckless. But I'm not a puppet. I'm a planner, even if I suck at stealth.
I returned the key to its hiding spot. I was still consumed by the urgency, but I had learned a valuable lesson: I needed a better strategy than a midnight sneak attack.
I climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin. My body was still thrumming with energy, but I forced myself to slow my breathing. I went to my room to sleep, but the truth was, sleep wouldn't come easily. The key, the dreams, the lies—they were all still waiting. The attic would remain locked for another night, but the hunt was far from over.
I finally drifted into a fitful, shallow sleep, the iron key feeling heavier in my mind than it did in my sock drawer. The memory of my parents' alarmed faces in the hallway was a clear deterrent against reckless action.
Midnight raids were out.