The cat slipped into a narrow gap near the side of the mansion, and that's when Eline noticed it.
A small corridor—square-shaped, roughly two feet by two feet—ran along the edge of the structure. A drainage passage. The backyard sat at a higher level, so during monsoons, rainwater would rush through here instead of flooding the grounds. For now, it was sealed shut with a thick stone slab.
Except… not perfectly.
There was a gap.
Not big. But big enough for a cat to squeeze through without breaking its dignity.
Eline stared at it like it was glowing.
"Oh," he whispered, awed. "I get it now."
God wanted him out.
That had to be it. First waking up alive. Then the empty halls. And now—this. A literal escape route revealed by a random cat at six in the morning.
Divine intervention, he decided.
"All right," he muttered, rubbing his palms together. "I hear you."
He stepped closer to the stone barrier and examined it. Heavy. Solid. Definitely not designed to be moved by someone with… well.
He glanced down at his own body.
"…unfortunately zero build."
He sighed. "This is why nobody approaches me. Not that I want them to. I mean, I can't have them. Hypothetically. But whatever. Focus."
He braced himself and grabbed the edge of the stone.
The first pull did nothing.
The second made his arms tremble.
"Come on," he hissed under his breath, teeth clenched. "I don't need muscles, I need motivation."
With a final, desperate shove—using more panic than strength—the slab shifted just enough.
Enough.
Behind it yawned a rectangular opening, dark and narrow, leading straight under the structure.
Eline stared at it, breathless.
"…Why would anyone even build something like this?" he whispered. "This is criminally convenient."
He didn't wait long enough to overthink it.
Dropping to his knees, he squeezed himself through, wriggling forward awkwardly, dignity fully abandoned. He crawled like a determined caterpillar, scraping elbows, muttering curses, and absolutely refusing to think about how ridiculous he must look.
The passage opened out suddenly.
Light.
Fresh air.
He emerged into a small, quiet structure—a cat house tucked away behind the mansion. Simple. Old. Forgotten.
The cat sat there, perfectly calm, watching him like this was all part of the plan.
Eline pushed himself upright, breathing hard, then looked up.
There was an opening at the top—a window meant for ventilation or moonlight. No bars. No glass. Nothing to stop anyone from climbing out.
His chest filled with something dangerously close to triumph.
"I knew it," he whispered fiercely. "I knew I was a genius."
He glanced down at the cat, who blinked slowly.
"Listen," Eline said seriously, pointing at it, "if I survive this and we ever meet again somewhere out there, I swear—treats. The good ones. Promise."
The cat flicked its tail.
Eline turned toward the window.
Freedom was right there.
And for the first time since stepping into this house, escape didn't feel impossible—it felt close.
He lifted his head and finally looked up.
The wall.
"…That's it?" he muttered.
It was tall, sure—but not impossible. Maybe ten feet. Barely more.
"Who builds a cat house ten feet high?" he whispered, offended on a personal level. "I live in a nine-foot apartment and I pay rent for it. You don't even pay. No offense."
He glanced at the cat again.
"Not that I'm judging you for freeloading on someone else's money," he added quickly. "Don't take it like that. We're friends now. You helped me a lot. I mean—" he paused, counting mentally, "—we basically just saved my life. That's more than a lot. That's… premium friendship."
He gave a quiet, breathy laugh. "Heh."
Then reality tapped him on the shoulder.
"…Okay. How do I climb this?"
His eyes flicked to the cat again. "Can I—no. No, absolutely not. If I climb on you, you'll turn into sauce. I'm not doing that to you."
He groaned softly. "What am I even saying? This adrenaline is messing with my brain. I'm talking nonsense."
He scanned the small space around him, desperate.
"Well, fine. I'll just—" He looked down. "—stack boxes? Crates? Anything?"
Nothing.
No cartons. No ladders. No conveniently placed furniture like in action movies.
"…Fuck," he whispered. "I'm cooked."
His gaze lifted again, slower this time, tracing the wall from bottom to top.
And then—
He froze.
"…Wait."
The wall wasn't smooth.
The bricks were arranged in a pattern—some jutting out slightly, uneven in a way that felt… intentional. Not sloppy. Not broken. Designed.
Like steps.
Very subtle ones.
Eline's eyes widened.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh. I knew it."
He stepped closer, touching one of the protruding bricks. Solid. Stable.
"I knew I was a genius," he whispered reverently. "I knew it."
He looked up at the wall again, awe mixing with disbelief.
"I swear," he murmured, half laughing, half terrified, "this entire mansion feels like it was built specifically for me to escape."
Everything lined up too perfectly. The timing. The cat. The corridor. The wall.
Either he was incredibly lucky—
—or something much worse was letting him go.
He swallowed, planting his foot against the first brick.
"Okay," he told himself quietly. "No thinking. Just climb."
And with that, Eline began to scale the wall—brick by brick—heart pounding, breath shallow, freedom just an arm's length away.
He took a breath, steadied himself, and climbed.
One brick.
Two.
Three—
His hand slipped.
"—Shit."
He dropped back down with a dull thud, not high enough to hurt badly, but enough to knock the air out of his lungs for a second. He sucked in a sharp breath, wincing.
"Okay, okay—" he muttered, half to calm himself, half to pretend that didn't just happen.
A faint sting flared along the back of his arm. He reached back, fingers brushing the skin just beneath his arm, and hissed quietly.
"Great. Of course."
It wasn't serious—just a shallow scratch where the brick had scraped him—but it burned in that annoying, don't-forget-me way.
He glanced at the cat, who was watching him with what felt suspiciously like judgment.
"Don't look at me like that," Eline whispered. "Everyone needs a warm-up."
He rolled his shoulder once, testing it. Sore, but fine. Everything in his body already hurt anyway—this barely registered on the list.
"Alright," he said under his breath. "Round two."
He wiped his palms against his night suit, adjusted his footing, and stepped back toward the wall again—jaw set this time.
"I didn't come this far to lose to a decorative brick pattern," he told himself.
And he started to climb again.