We scramble up the rocky slope, our boots slipping on loose scree. The setting sun casts long, distorted shadows that make the treacherous climb even more dangerous. The Dwellers are right behind us, their scrabbling claws a skittering sound that sets my teeth on edge.
I risk a glance back. A pack of Ferals, their pallid forms ghastly in the twilight, are clambering up the slope behind us.
The only thing that I can take as reassurance, as much as I can say it is so, is that they don't seem to be guided by anything. There's an excessive amount of them around, but that's to be expected if they recently overran...well, not just that town, but multiple places.
I turn my back to the others, following backward, holding up both of my hands, focusing on holding back the Dwellers with their own Gloom.
I can't risk fighting them. It'd be impossible for Siena not to notice that, and I can't risk her behaving irrationally.
Or...
Maybe it is rational.
Either way, without Thomson here to talk to her, there's no way I'd be able to do any convincing of her. Even if she can handle herself on her own at night like this, we definitely won't be able to get her to rejoin us. Right now, the Order needs all the survivors we can find. We can't lose her.
So I make a wall. A barrier of Gloom, sticky and strong, between them and us. It won't hold them forever. But it might be enough. A few seconds more.
Flynn and Siena are almost at the top of the slope, the last rays of sunlight catching their hair. Michael is a few feet behind them, stumbling, gasping for breath.
I have to risk it.
I turn and sprint after them to catch up. The Gloom wall shudders behind me, the Ferals throwing themselves against it with mindless fury. It won't hold long.
"Flynn!" I yell, my lungs burning.
He glances back, sees the wall of Gloom, and understands. "The crypt! Go!"
He doesn't hesitate. He launches himself over the last few feet of the slope, landing in a roll and coming up running. Siena is right behind him, her movements a fluid, graceful blur. Michael scrambles after them, his face a mask of terror.
I'm the last one, but the time it takes for them to get Thomson to open the door means that I can close the distance.
The Dwellers are still back at the treeline. Which is good. I have the presence of mind, now, to reinforce that wall. They're Ferals, but we can't be sure what these Dwellers are capable of anymore.
We absolutely can't let them know where the door is. Only that they chased us and we disappeared. There is no other option.
I turn to face the treeline, holding my hands up, my entire will focused on the wall. The Gloom shudders and thickens, the Ferals' frustrated snarls growing more distant.
"Hurry!" Siena yells, her voice tight with urgency. She's right at the entrance, her hand raised to knock on the stone. "They're coming!"
A low rumble starts from the stone wall, and a line of light appears. The door is opening.
Flynn grabs Michael's arm and pulls him through. Siena follows, her face a mask of grim determination. I'm the last one. I turn and sprint toward the entrance, the wall of Gloom finally shattering behind me. The Ferals' snarls are a deafening chorus of fury, but they're too far away. I leap through the doorway just as the stone rumbles shut behind me, the sound a final, definitive boom.
We're safe. For now.
The interior of the crypt is a welcome relief after the chaos of the chase. The air is still and cool, the only light the familiar, blue-white glow of the wards. The other students are gathered in the main chamber, their faces a mixture of fear and relief.
Flynn is bent over, gasping for breath, his hands on his knees. Michael is on the floor, curled up in a ball, shaking. Siena is standing ramrod straight, her blade in her hand, her eyes scanning the room with a soldier's instinctive caution.
Thomson is there, his face a grim mask. He looks at us, his gaze lingering on Siena for a moment before settling on me.
"You made it," he says, his voice flat. "Good."
Siena's gaze is locked on him, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Classmaster Thomson."
"Field Agent Siena," he replies, his tone formal. "I'm glad to see you survived."
"I'm glad to see anyone survived," she says, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "But what is this place? I can't say I recognize it."
"Do you not?" The older man tilts his head, thoughtful. "This is our most ancient crypt."
She blinks. "But...that's on the other side of the world."
"The Light seeps through the cracks of many doors, Siena." He says simply. Then he turns to me. "Did they see?"
I shake my head.
It was probably a close call, but the hill blocked off their line of sight, that much I'm certain of.
And...
I glance over my shoulder toward the now sealed and unseen door.
If what Siena just said is true....
Is that it? The reason why I immediately stopped sensing the Gloom isn't the wards, but because we're physically far away from that doorway?
It stands to reason there must be other doors leading to other places too, then. The ancient Order must've had other escape routes besides the one near the Citadel. But I've never heard of any. Even the idea of displacement doors is something I think...maybe I only heard in passing in a class I didn't pay attention to.
So it's more accurate to say I heard Amelia talking about it at some point after a class. She was, predictably, excited about the logistics.
"...What do you mean by that, Classmaster?" Siena asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She's a field agent. She's smart. And she's not going to accept a cryptic non-answer.
"The Order has had many centuries to learn the nature of its enemy, Agent Siena." Thomson says, turning and walking toward the main table in the center of the chamber. He gestures for her to follow. "We have learned that there are no true safe havens. Only places that are safer than others. And so the only way to remain safe is if the safe place is always in the place that is safer than others."
...What does that even mean? I'm tired, my head is ringing, and I just want to sleep for a week.
Siena, however, seems to understand it instantly. Her jaw tightens. "So that's how it is. A safe house that is forever in motion. I suppose..." Her gaze turns to scan the room. "If the Order fell, no other wards could protect us."
Flynn, who has finally caught his breath, straightens up and looks between them. "Wait, you mean this whole place... moves? So we could be halfway across the world right now?" His eyes light up with a sudden, boyish excitement. "That's the coolest thing I've ever heard!"
"It is somewhat more complicated than that." Thomson makes a short sound that might be a half-formed laugh. "Your friend Amelia will no doubt be happy to explain it."
Flynn makes an expression that mirrors how I feel on the matter, before he shakes his head. "No doubt. But she'll do it a little too much..." He trails off. The adrenaline of our escape is starting to wear off, and the exhaustion is setting in, a heavy, suffocating blanket. All of our adrenaline is fading.
Thomson turns and walks toward the center table in the room. "Go. Eat, rest, and place what supplies you collected in the pantry." He says, but he gestures for Siena to follow. "We must talk, Agent Siena. There is much you do not yet know."
Siena nods, her expression hardening with resolve. She follows Thomson without a backward glance, her shoulders squared, ready for her debriefing. A professional, rejoining the command structure.
Flynn immediately heads towards the pantry, grabbing Michael by the arm and half-dragging the trembling boy along. "Come on, Scholar. Food. You look like you're about to faint. You too, Stick!" He calls over his shoulder to me.
I don't move. My feet are rooted to the stone floor. The adrenaline is gone, and in its place is a cold, hollow dread. The image of the Ferals throwing themselves against my wall of Gloom is burned into my mind. The feel of it, the sickeningly familiar control, the ease with which I commanded the stuff of nightmares... it churns in my gut.
"Caden?" Flynn's voice is softer now. He's stopped at the entrance to the corridor, looking back at me with a genuine concern in his eyes. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I lie, the words tasting like ash.
"No, you're not," Flynn says, letting go of Michael and walking back toward me. "You're white as a ghost." He lowers his voice. "Is it...that stuff tires you out, right?" He's trying to give me an out, an excuse that doesn't involve me being a monster.
I almost take it. It would be so easy to just nod and let him believe that my power comes with a price, a simple physical cost. But it's not true. The opposite, in fact. Using the Gloom feels... natural. Effortless.
That's.
Terrifying to me.