unfurled his wings, flapping as hard as he could until he caught an updraft. Then, rising over the ranch was effortless, and he got his first good look at the entirety of the compound.
The house was enormous—which he already knew, thanks to his interior tour. Next to the house was a detached garage, which, again, he’d already seen the night before. It was big, but as far as Oliver knew, held only cars. Behind the house and garage, though, were buildings Oliver had only glimpsed earlier.
One looked like a typical barn, big and black instead of red, but with the iconic arched roof. Another building was smaller, a thinner rectangle, and might have been a stable. A third, further away from the house, was somewhere in between—wide like the barn, but not as large. The shape of it tickled Oliver’s memory for a moment, until it came to him. It looked like a hangar, though a small one. Was there a landing strip on the property? He hadn’t heard any planes coming in. Maybe they’d cleared a runway…somewhere. But it didn’t seem likely, since they were surrounded by hills and forests. Not the most ideal terrain for aircraft.
Getting close to the barn in his feathered form wasn’t easy. His wingspan was enormous—nearly eight feet wide—and not suited to a forest landing. There was a small strip of land behind the barn before the trees, thankfully. He landed there, the barn blocking any view of him from the house, and shifted quickly. Paul had already proved himself less than technically savvy, and it was the same situation here—no cameras to tattle on him to the guards.
Oliver nudged a person-sized door open and stopped to listen. Silence greeted him, which was…weird. Wasn’t it? He’d never thought of a barn as being a quiet place, though admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with them. But animals made noise, right? So he should be hearing something, even if it was only a cow breathing.
Nothing.
He slipped through the door and discovered the barn…wasn’t a barn at all.
Where the stalls for animals should be were rows of what looked like jail cells. They were all empty of people right now, but the cots with thin blankets and buckets for—Oliver barely held back a gag as he realized what they were for—well, it all indicated that the cells were ready for people.
Oliver quickly counted them. Ten cells. Something else caught his eye—little ceramic thingies that tickled another memory. Shit. Were the cages electrified?
Jail cells with locks would be enough to hold humans, so Oliver had to assume that these cells were meant to hold shifters. But why? Were they getting ready for some type of war and needed space to house prisoners? Or was this a holding base for another round of shifter experiments, like what had been done in the past?
Neither case was good.
Oliver quickly exited the way he’d come, only to stop short at the sight of a guard rounding the corner of the barn. He froze as the guard shouted, “Stop!”
You’re harmless. A nobody. Oliver’s hands shot up in the air. “I-I’m sorry! I was just bored.”
“What were you doing in there?”
“Just looking around. I thought maybe Mr. Paul had a horse I could ride.”
“Naked?”
Oliver glanced down. “Well, no. But I was flying and—” He bit his lip. “Please don’t tell on me. I didn’t mean to make trouble, I swear.” For good measure, he let his eyes well up with tears. “I don’t want to piss Mr. Paul off on my first day here, you know?”
The guard huffed out a disgusted sigh, maybe at Oliver’s begging or the tears about to fall, he didn’t know. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Get your ass back inside.”
Oliver didn’t have to be told twice. He scrambled across the yard toward the house, and tried to get a good look at the other buildings as he passed. The guard stayed close behind him, though, so he couldn’t look his fill. At first glance, the rectangular building and the hangar seemed normal enough. Oliver wished he’d had more time to explore and discover the truth.
At least he had something to share with Ben when he got back. And hopefully Ben would have a piece to this puzzle too.
10
Ben didn’t open the door to the room he shared with Oliver until close to midnight. By that point, he was all but dead on his feet. Standing around doing nothing—mostly—was hard. Every muscle in his back was whining in protest. He’d gotten