Live From Blackglass (Chapter 5)

Written by Taylor Lee

Genre: Mystery, Murder, and Suspense

Audience: Young Adult to Adult (12+)

Chapter 5: Morning Escape

At six in the morning, the rain turned to sleet, rattling against the tall glass windows like handfuls of waves.

Micah Deren walked down the long south corridor toward the main entrance. His duffel bag was slung over his shoulder.

"Micah, stop," Arden Pryce called, running after him, her leather heels clicking sharply on the ground.

Calder Moss and Oren Vask followed three paces behind.

"I'm done," Micah said without stopping. "I don't care about the million dollars. I don't care about the resort. I watched a man die in front of me while a television crew adjusted their lighting. I am walking out that gate."

"You can't," Arden said, grabbing his arm.

Micah yanked his arm free, rounding on her. "Watch me, Arden! Sue me! File an injunction! I don't care!"

"Look at the contract, you idiot!" Arden unrolled a thick sheaf of legal paper, shoving it against his chest. "I spent the last two hours reading the addendum. Rake didn't just design the game. He structured the resort's private security charter under international maritime salvage law."

Micah stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Blackglass sits three miles outside territorial waters," Arden said, her voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "We are technically on a private artificial platform. If you exit the building without an authorized 'Production Extraction Voucher,' you are classified as an 'unauthorized trespasser on high-seas industrial property.' The automated perimeter defenses—the electrified fences and the sonic barriers—are active."

"They wouldn't kill us for leaving," Micah said, though the certainty had drained from his voice.

"They won't kill you," Calder Moss said softly from behind them.

The undertaker was looking out the sidelight window toward the gate.

"They'll let the elements do it," Calder Moss said. "The gate is locked with magnetic bolts. The surf is forty-four degrees. If you jump from the cliff, the rip current carries you straight into the reef. You'd last eight minutes."

A soft, polite cough startled them.

Eamon Vey stood at the junction of the hallway, holding a silver tray with a pot of black coffee and four china cups.

"A bitter morning, is it not?" Eamon said, his face an unreadable mask. "I thought you might appreciate some refreshment while you deliberate your next move."

Micah took a step toward the butler, his fists clenching. "You killed him, didn't you?"

Eamon did not flinch. He set the tray on a side table with mathematical precision. "Mr. Rake was my employer for thirty-two years, Mr. Shah. I served him his morning tea, I managed his estates, and I attended to his private needs. A good servant does not comment on the passing of his master."

"You gave Julian the glass!" Micah shouted. "You set up the tray!"

"I followed Mr. Rake's explicit instructions," Eamon said smoothly. "Mr. Rake selected the vintage. I merely poured."

"And who selected the needle in his throat?" Bram Calder asked, stepping out of the shadows behind Eamon, his service revolver, which he had retrieved from his locked luggage, held firmly at his side and pointed at the floor.

Eamon glanced down at the gun, then back to Bram Calder's eyes. A faint, terrible flicker of amusement passed through the butler's gray irises.

"A curious instrument, the marrow needle," Eamon murmured. "It belonged to Mr. Rake's grandfather, who was a surgeon in the Crimean War. It was kept in the display cabinet in the blue salon. The cabinet, I believe, was unlocked by key number 04."

Bram Calder's brow furrowed. "Who has key four?"

Eamon bowed his head slightly.

"Key number four," the butler whispered, "was assigned to Chef Nessa Osei."

End of Chapter 5

Chapter 6 will be published soon

©2026 TaylorLeeMedia LLC and its affiliates. All rights reserved.

This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental.