Water runs in a shallow channel beneath my feet. Every step threatens to echo too far, so I move slowly, careful.
Gary is behind me, silent. I don't hear him, but I feel him.
The air changes. Not colder, not warmer. But something is here. Occupied.
The smell comes first—warm skin, damp cloth, the scent of bodies held underground too long.
Ahead.
Straight ahead.
One presence shifts its weight. Stone scrapes softly and then stops. Another breath answers it, shallow and fast. A third doesn't breathe at all.
Behind me, a faint click—the crossbow wood settling. Gary doesn't move again.
Water ripples once. Then again.
Three presences. Uneven spacing. No pattern. They aren't flanking. They're stacking.
The tunnel is narrow. Stone presses in from all sides. Turning sideways would scrape bone. There is barely enough room to adjust my footing.
My heart stays slow. Leechsteel stays cold. The silence does not.
The first feral steps into view and lunges immediately. There is no room to retreat without turning my back. I step forward. Leechsteel meets its skull with a dull, heavy thud. It feels wrong.
It stumbles but stays upright. Too dense.
The second feral slams into me from the side. Sideways barely exists here. Its shoulder hits the stone and me at the same time. Breath leaves my body. I twist, deny space, and drive it into the wall. The tunnel completes the motion.
Gary fires. The bolt disappears into its 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 the stone.
Behind me, a sharp snap. Not wood.
Gary lets go of the crossbow. Two fingers drop with it. Blood follows—thin, fast—pulled into the channel.
We pause, catching our breath, but neither of us moves.
I turn back to the first feral. It charges again. No room to move. I strike its head with my right hand once, twice, three times. Something gives. Its body folds into the water and stays there.
The other two stop. There is not enough 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 are distracted.
A door ahead—metal, inset into stone. Gary is already on it. His fingers shake once as he digs for a key. He opens it. We slip through.
The corridor curves immediately. Concrete underfoot. The air is drier. Sound dies faster here. 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 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. Thicker than the others.
"Let's see if your friend is still inside," Gary says. He moves ahead and unlocks it.
Click.
The door opens. Cells. Empty. Every door stands open.
I move faster than I mean to, checking each one. Down and back again. Nothing. No one.
My knees give before I stop. The floor is cold through the coat. My eyes sting. My vision becomes glassy and wet.
"Ashlynn," I whisper. "Why?"
Gary steps up beside me, 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, careful.
We leave the northern cell corridor. But then another door right next to us opens.
Click.
A familiar voice cuts through the quiet.
"You're late."