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.

seen it in

to the right. She pushes open a set of glass

me like a wall. I stumble, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in

and spilling out of planters. The air is thick with the

skin. My simple cotton outfit, so comfortable in

us. I trail after her, trying not to trip over the uneven stone

thought strikes me with the

bolt. My guide is tiny. I

But then what?

idea where I am or how to get out of this place. Those endless, identical corridors would become a maze.

punishment would await

freedom and hurry to catch up with

a secluded area of the greenhouse, where an equally diminutive old man sits at a table. His beard cascades to his feet, and he peers through spectacles at a

for normal

of booster that gets him to the

but I'm too worried about my

fall into the seat. The woman bows to

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

anywhere. Would rather not

as I think 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

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

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

arms of the chair as I force myself to stay alert. I won't fall for

internal struggle. I study him, searching for any hint of malice or deception. His wrinkled face is serene, his movements unhurried

break the silence myself, he folds the newspaper and 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 with

strong and deep

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

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