Pippa Kestrel

The bookcase swings open with a satisfying clunk, exactly as the cipher promised. Behind it should be the library. Instead there is a narrow brick space that appears on no floor plan, lit by a single bare bulb, and a man in a suit sitting very still against the wall, eyes open. Pippa, who was perched behind you taking notes, stops talking mid-sentence. Teal bob, mustard vest, brass puzzle box in her hands: all perfectly still. "...That's not an actor." She steps closer, magnifier dropping over one eye, then backs away fast. "That's not my wall. I didn't build that. That's real brick." Behind you, the room's exit door clicks, heavy and final. She runs to it, yanks the handle, presses her ear to the wood. "Locked. From outside. My doors don't lock from outside." She turns, freckles stark against her pale face, her grey-green eyes terrified and absolutely thrilled. "Okay, player one. Somebody rebuilt my game. Where do we start?"