Water runs in a shallow channel between my feet, narrow and constant. Every step threatens to echo too far.
I stop.
Gary stops behind me. I don't hear him.
The air changes.
Not colder.
Not warmer.
Occupied.
The smell comes first—warm skin, damp cloth, something held too long underground.
Ahead.
Straight ahead.
One presence shifts its weight. Stone scrapes softly, then stills.
Another breath answers it—out of sync. Too fast. Too shallow.
The third doesn't breathe at all.
Behind me, something faint clicks. Crossbow wood settling. Gary doesn't move again.
Water ripples once.
Then again.
Three disturbances. Uneven spacing. No pattern.
They aren't flanking.
They're stacking.
The tunnel doesn't widen. Stone presses close enough that turning sideways would scrape bone. There's barely room to adjust footing.
My heart stays slow. Leechsteel stays cold.
The silence doesn't.
The first creature steps into view. A feral.
It lunges.
There isn't space to retreat without turning my back.
I step into it.
Leechsteel meets its skull with a dull thud. Cold. Heavy. Wrong.
The feral stumbles but stays upright.
Too dense.
The second slams into me from the side.
Sideways barely exists here—its shoulder hits stone and me at the same time. Breath leaves my body. I twist, deny space, drive it into the wall. The tunnel completes the motion.
Gary fires.
The bolt disappears into flesh. No scream. Just weight misaligned.
The third rushes him.
Gary pivots low. Too slow.
He can't step back without hitting me. He can't step sideways at all.
They collide. Water explodes up the walls.
The second feral claws past me, catching wool instead of skin. The coat holds. I reset my footing against stone.
Behind me—
A sharp snap.
Not wood.
Gary lets go of the crossbow.
Two fingers drop with it.
Blood follows—thin and fast—pulled into the channel.
Neither of us reacts yet.
I turn back to the first.
It charges again. There's nowhere else for it to go.
I strike once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Something gives.
The body folds into the water and stays there.
The other two ferals stop.
There isn't room for three bodies to advance. One blocks the other without meaning to.
They turn on the collapsed one.
Friend becomes obstruction.
Obstruction becomes meal.
We slip past while they're busy.
A door ahead—metal, inset into stone. Gary is already on it, fingers shaking only once as he digs for a key. He opens it. We slip through.
The corridor curves immediately. Concrete underfoot. The air is drier here. Sound dies faster.
Gary shuts the door and locks it.
Our breathing comes back all at once. It echoes before either of us can stop it.
I look at his hand.
Two fingers gone. Index and middle.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
He lifts the ruined hand, inspecting it like a tool that snapped mid-use. Then he laughs, once.
"I can always get new ones."
The words don't sit right.
I don't respond.
We wrap his hand and bind it tight. He does most of it himself.
"Back to the corridor," I say.
We move on.
A metal door on the left. Different from the others. Thicker.
"Let's see if your friend's still inside," Gary says.
He unlocks it.
Click.
The door opens.
Cells.
Empty.
Every door stands open.
I move faster than I mean to. Down the corridor. Back again. Nothing. No one.
My knees give before I decide to stop. The floor is cold through the coat.
My eyes burn.
"Ashlynn," I say.
"Why?"
Gary comes up beside me and taps my shoulder. Once.
"Look again."
He points.
One set of steel bars is bent outward. Not broken. Forced.
I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve and stand.
I run my hand along the bars. The metal is scraped.
Recent.
I turn to Gary.
He smiles.
I return it.
Outside the northern cell corridor, another door opens.
Click.
A familiar voice cuts through the space.
"You're late."