Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 243

Chapter 243 Lisa: Strange Introductions

LISA

Wherever I am, it's huge.

We've taken at least three or four turns, and I've already forgotten how to get back. Was it left first, or right? The last turn was to our right. Wait… was it?

Shit.

Every time I lag behind, trying to map this place in my head—which is little better than a toddler's scribbling at this point, with my confusion over lefts and rights—the tiny woman turns and scolds me, telling me to pick up my feet.

Before, I would have given her some sort of smartass comment and maybe even slowed down.

But now, my body feels cold sweat at the idea of making her angry. Even if I'm a prisoner, at least I'm a clean and comfortable prisoner here. I don't want to go back to the previous standard of kidnapping.

So I shut my mouth and hurry behind, wondering how she can be so freaking fast with such tiny legs. She's probably the size of a kindergartener, but faster than a full-grown adult.

What bizarre witchcraft is that?

I force myself to focus on the path ahead, ignoring the endless parade of closed doors lining these stark corridors. No pictures, no decorations, not even a potted plant breaks up the monotony. Just door after identical door, their handles gleaming dully in the harsh overhead lighting.

The silence is oppressive. Our footsteps echo off the bare walls, amplifying the sound until it feels like we're being followed by an army. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder.

"Keep up," my tiny guide snaps for what feels like the hundredth time.

I lengthen my stride, closing the gap between us. Seriously though, how can someone so small move so fast?

We round another corner, and I blink in surprise. Windows. Actual windows line this hallway, letting in natural light.

Wow.

The sun.

it in

right. She

a wall. I

greenhouse. Lush greenery surrounds us on all sides, climbing trellises and spilling out of planters. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and tropical

on my skin. My simple cotton outfit, so comfortable in the

by the giant blanket of warmth pressing down on us. I trail after her, trying not to

thought strikes me with the force of a physical

and bolt. My guide is tiny.

But then what?

where I am or how to get out of

who knows what punishment would await me for trying to

shake off the fleeting fantasy of freedom and hurry to catch

a table. His beard cascades to his feet, and he peers through spectacles at a newspaper covered in unfamiliar

sized for normal adult

kind of booster that gets him

laugh, but I'm too worried about

my guide shoves me into a chair. I stumble, barely catching myself as I fall into the seat. The woman bows

acutely aware of every bead of sweat forming on my body. I shift in my seat, wishing it was easier to breathe in this weather. Actually, I'm just wishing

anywhere. Would rather not be in

that, there's something about this old man that puts me at ease. A sense of warmth, of friendliness, radiates from him. It's as if I've known him for years, though I'm certain we've

unnerves me. Why do I feel this way? After everything I've been through, I should be on high alert. Instead, I find myself relaxing in his presence, my guard lowering despite my best efforts to

can't trust it. This comfort, this sense of safety—it has to be some kind of trick. Maybe they've drugged

fingers dig into the arms of the chair as I force myself to stay alert.

oblivious to my internal struggle. I study him, searching

sets it aside. His gaze meets mine, and I'm struck by the intensity in his eyes. They're old eyes, yes, but sharp and clear, almost terrifying

his voice surprisingly strong and deep

through me. How does he know who I am? A thousand questions race through my mind, but only one

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