Molly Jones
Thirty minutes later, nothing had changed except for the air around them, which continued to grow thicker with wet, heavy mist. The world of metal was almost lost in darkness. Obscure, creepy shapes appeared and disappeared, all sharp angles and looming curves. The burnt smell became more intense, as if the kids were approaching a massive factory or garbage dump.
Tom officially hated the place, his panic growing at the thought that maybe they'd be stuck here and that they'd have to sleep here. If the stupid riddle was their only way out . . .
He kept running through it in his mind, trying to recall the methods he'd used to solve the original Twelve Clues. Those had seemed so easy in comparison, almost childish. Words opposite to open sesame, thumping the ground with your foot, figuring out a day and a time.