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Backstage was empty.
I inched closer to the stage, being as quiet as I could in the uncomfortable dress. Every step in the heels sounded like a gunshot in the silence, but thankfully, there was no one around to hear it.
I looked around, confused. The auction was supposed to start at any moment, and there seemed to be no one around to begin. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn at the front of the stage, a roughly semicircular wooden platform. I checked the wings, which turned out to be just as empty as the rest of the backstage. Upon trying the handles to the dressing rooms, I discovered that they were locked, and thought better of picking them. It might attract unwanted attention, and there was no sound emitting from the inside, so they were probably empty anyway.
Once I had exhausted all the searching points, I stepped onto the stage. I could still hear the noise from beyond, though the thick curtains had dulled the loud laughs to murmurs and the clinking glasses to the tinkling of wind chimes. It was helpful knowing that no one could hear me snooping around.
But what was I supposed to do now? Though Vernon was supposed to betray Jungkook, their plans had been the same up to this point. If Jungkook wanted me delivered into the hands of the Lees, he should have known where I was supposed to be, and this didn't seem to be it. Then where?
Or maybe there was no auction.
But no, that can't be it, I thought, recalling the placards and numbers I had seen some people carrying around. There was definitely a forward auction happening, but beyond that, I knew nothing. The fact that people were being sold as slaves reminded me of Roman customs of selling war slaves as spoils of war. I shivered in disgust, knowing that I was one of them.
There could be many sellers, or just one, but there was a higher chance that the clan was the only seller for the auction, being the host. There was also the chance that there were multiple suppliers within the clan, like branches. Ironic, how little I knew about the crime system despite having been caught in its depths for almost all of my life.
I walked around the stage slowly and alertly, keeping a close watch on the curtains in case they started parting. I went back to the stairs at the back of the stage, and halted as my feet hit an unsteady part of the stage. Eyes narrowing, I stepped back to survey the part, kneeling next to it as well as I could without accidentally ripping something. My fingers traced stage, looking for lines set into the wood, and were satisfied by the result.
A trapdoor, hidden by the pattern of the wood.
Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I dug my fingers into the side of the line and pulled it up. No dust floated up, which meant that it had been used recently. It wasn't very deep, either—about six or seven feet, but I couldn't see any stairs to grant access. Sighing, I slipped of my heels, dropping them in before gathering up the skirt of the dress and jumping in after them.
