Thomas and Lucy, oblivious to the fact that their pursuers had turned tail, continued their blind sprint until the tunnel floor simply... ended.
"Ouch! Why did you stop?!" Lucy slammed into Thomas's back, the impact sending her sprawling into the filth for the third time. "I'm screwed! I can't move, I smell like a grave, and I—"
"We're out," Thomas interrupted. His voice was hollow, filled with a sudden, weary awe.
Lucy looked up. The oppressive, suffocating weight of the stone ceiling was gone. Above them, the sky was a deep, bruised purple, salted with a thousand silver stars. A faint, cool breeze—the first clean air they had smelled in hours—brushed against their grime-streaked faces.
"We're out! We actually did it!" Lucy scrambled to her feet, her exhaustion momentarily replaced by a surge of manic relief. She hurried to Thomas's side at the very lip of the tunnel.
Their joy was short-lived.
