The Pale Lily

Hands Up

Elara’s heart pounded in her chest as she quietly backed out of the darkroom. The images of the abused children still burned in her mind, but she forced herself to focus. She had taken quick photos of the most damning pictures, evidence that could finally expose Jeffrey Aldor. Now, she just had to get out of this mansion alive.

The dim red light of the darkroom was behind her as she slipped back into Aldor’s bedroom. The power was still out, the entire house cloaked in darkness, which made her feel like a ghost moving through the shadows. She paused by the door, straining to hear the footsteps of Aldor’s men.

Silence.

Had they moved on? For a moment, hope flickered in her chest. Maybe Lysandra’s blackout had thrown them off, giving her just enough of a window to escape unnoticed.

Elara crept toward the door, her pulse still racing. She knew she had to stay calm, keep her movements slow and deliberate. The photos in her phone were more than enough to take down Aldor—but only if she got out.

But just as she stepped into the doorway, her stomach dropped.

There, standing in front of her, were four men. Each one held a rifle, the long, black barrels pointing directly at her. Their faces were set, emotionless, their eyes cold in the dim light. They had been waiting.

Elara’s breath hitched in her throat. Her body tensed as the realization hit her—she was trapped.

“Hands up,” one of the men growled, his voice low and threatening.

With no other choice, Elara raised her hands slowly, her mind racing for a way out. Her eyes darted between the men, searching for any opening, any chance to run. But there was none. The barrels of their rifles gleamed menacingly in the darkness, inches away from her chest.

She was stuck, right in the middle of the room, with no way to move without risking everything.