I've been in this tunnel once before. I was thirteen. Noah dared me to crawl into the darkness with nothing but a glowstick and a bottle of water. I got halfway before I cried so hard they had to bring in a team to pull me out.
Now I'm back—no water, no glowstick, no choice.
Only Killian.
His grip is tight around my wrist as we run, his boots hitting the metal grates like war drums. I try to ignore the way my thigh screams with every step, the searing pain from the glass embedded deep beneath the skin. I try not to scream back.
"I thought only the Thorne kids knew about this tunnel," I breathe between steps.
His silence is louder than the footsteps behind us.
I yank back slightly, just enough to make him look over his shoulder.
"Killian."
He doesn't slow. "Not now."
"Answer me."
The flashlight in his free hand bounces off the concrete, illuminating the worn-out emergency pipes and water-dripping walls. The stale air down here tastes like iron and secrets.
