- Aria's POV -

The first thought that comes to my mind is: is he hot?

Pfft! There's no way anyone could be hotter than Miles, not even his own brother. It's impossible!

Did I really just think that?

I mentally slap my self, repeatedly. I really need to get my head out of the gutter.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I ask in disbelief. As far as I know, Miles doesn't have any siblings. At least, that's what I thought.

"Michael Prescott. Age twenty-two. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that piece of fabric belongs to him." He says, gulping.

"'Pretty sure'?"

"I mean, I know that belongs to him. It was apart of a shirt my grandma had made when we were kids. She was a fashion designer."

Oh.

"But I thought you didn't have any siblings . . ." I say. The words come out in a whisper.

Miles looks away. His gaze lands on the hole in the wall and his eyes widen a fraction. He shudders and fixes his glare on the floor. "And I never said I didn't. Mike and I were close, until he decided to kill my uncle and cousin. That day, I lost my brother too."

His voice cracks as he says the last sentence. I want to throw a million questions at him, but I keep my mouth shut. Sometimes you just have to listen; I know that better than anyone.

"I don't know why he did it, no one does." Miles continues. "After that happened, he turned . . . psychotic. Mom and Dad decided it was best they send him off to a mental asylum. I haven't seen him in seven years."

So Michael was only fifteen when he killed his uncle and cousin.

"Did he hurt you?" I ask, a sudden feeling of rage taking over me.

Finally, his eyes meet mine. Even in the dark, I can tell they're full of sadness. I would hug him, if he wasn't, erm, well, him.

"That's another story for another day." He says flatly. I nod in understanding and press my ear to the door.

There is no shuffling heard, or any other sound. It's silent. There's no one on the other side of the door.

"So what you're saying is, you think that was him?" I question, furrowing my brows.

"It's a possibility."

"Are you sure this piece from his shirt wasn't here before?"

He shakes his head. "No, we left all his things with him or we gave it all away. Everything. Most of the stuff must be thrown out by now, though. And one thing I remember about Michael is that he'd always carry that piece with him. He ripped the shirt when he was nine, after Grandma died. He loved her a lot and didn't take her death very well."

"But how did he manage to come all the way here if he's supposed to be in a mental asylum?" I question, biting my nails.

"Maybe he finally escaped."

"So he's tried to escape before?"

Miles nods. "Countless of times. He did manage to do it once, actually. Three years ago, I think. He was gone for about four weeks before he was found two states over."

Three years ago?

"Do you remember what month he escaped?"

He gnaws at his lower lip and looks like he's in deep thought. "It was September, why?"

September fourteenth was the day my parents died.

He seems to catch onto what I'm thinking, probably because of the expression I'm wearing. His jaw clenches, but he stays silent.

I exhale slowly, not knowing I'd been holding my breath at all. What Miles just told me, I wasn't expecting it.

"We need to find a way out of here." I crouch down and move my hands over the floor, trying to feel anything that can help us.

"This is like an escape room, except it's real." He adds, trying the door again.

I have to agree with that. As much as I love escape rooms, getting stuck with absolutely nothing but Miles' shoes isn't the best.

After about ten minutes of searching in the dark, we give up. We're stuck here for who knows how long, and that's that. I sit on the floor with a sigh and pull my knees to my chest, my head against the concrete wall. Miles does the same next to me.

"This is crazy." He mutters under his breath.

I laugh, but the sound doesn't have a trace of humour. Instead, it's hollow. Empty. "Welcome to my life."

I then turn to face him, and I'm surprised when I realize he's been staring at me the whole time. Observing me, maybe? Weird.

"You don't think we can use the shoes to help us, do you? Or the laces?" He asks.

I shrug. How are we supposed to get a locked door open by using a shoe or the laces? "I don't think so."

"So, that's it? We're just stuck down here until someone wakes up and notices we've disappeared? Damn, I was supposed to have a date with my bed."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "If you're so tired, just sleep here."

"Are you kidding? There's no way in hell I'm sleeping here, with the . . . the demons that are ready to possess us at any time." He exclaims, pointing to the hole in the wall.

"Chicken," I mumble.

"Don't you dare remind me of the Headless Chickenman!"

He's such a kid.

"What are we supposed to do while we wait?" I grumble, fiddling with Mom's locket that is around my neck.

Even in the darkness, I can still see Miles wiggling his eyebrows at me as he says, "I can think about a few things."

Please tell me this is not going where I think it is.

He winks, and his lips break into a boyish grin. "We can—"

I smack his head and move to sit in front of him. "Shut up or I will summon the Headless Chickenman."

Surprisingly, he doesn't cower away again. "Sure, babe."

Someone get me out of here.

"I still hate you, by the way. " I glare.

"The feeling's mutual." Miles grunts, looking away.

"You're an ass. You know that, right?"

"You're a b*tch. You know that, right?" He mocks.

"Shithead."

"Loser."

"Jerk."

"Witch."

"Dou-"

"Remember that day I took you to the cavern? Why did you zone out?"

I'm so thrown off by the question that I jerk back, and my head hits the wall behind me. I let out a frustrated groan, but Miles only chuckles. I shoot him a dirty look, except he's unaffected by it.

"I don't know. It just happens sometimes." More like most of the time.

"What were you thinking about? You were making weird faces at me, and it kind of freaked me out."

This makes me choke on my own spit. I was making weird faces at him? Oh, gosh. I can't ever tell him what I was daydreaming about. Ever. I won't be able to get over the embarrassment.

"Uh, um . . . I-I was thinking about Zoe's goldfish! Such an s-sweet, orange thing. His n-name is Bobo." I stammer, still recovering from the coughing fit.

Miles eyes me suspiciously. "Right, "

This time it's my turn to ask a question. "Why did you even take me there? To the cavern?"

"I guess I felt the need to share it with somebody." He purses his lips.

I frown. "But why me? I thought you hate me."

Miles yawns and his eyes become droopy. I can tell he's tired. "I did. I mean, I do. But I knew you were in need of a breather."

I suck in a sharp breath, remembering the creature ripping me open and letting my guts spill everywhere. I shut my eyes so tight they hurt, clenching my fists and digging my nails into my palms until they almost draw blood. It felt so real.

"Shortcake, calm down. You're okay, just focus on me and breathe." My hands are pulled from my knees and rest in his. Miles' eyes bore into mine once I open them and his brows are raised.

I do what he says and focus on him, breathing in and out. It works for a bit until the lights start to flicker again. Then, finally, they turn on. But Miles doesn't break eye contact and neither do I. If I did, I wouldn't have realized how beautiful his eyes really are. I feel as if they're consuming me, and I'm drowning. Drowning in an ocean of blue, with the tiniest specks of green.

No wonder everyone fawns over him.

I just hope I don't fall for him, too.