Elian woke to silence.
Not the soft silence of the Athenaeum at dawn, filled with rustle of parchment and the creak of shelves, but the heavy, suffocating silence of stone pressing down on all sides. His back ached from the cold floor, his neck stiff from sleeping against the wall. The torch they had wedged into a crack had burned itself to a black stub.
For a moment, disoriented, he wondered if the night before had been a dream. The crawl through the wall. Lyra's mocking smirk. The corpses still smoldering in his mind.
But then he felt it—the lingering pulse beneath his skin. A slow, alien thrum, like a second heartbeat not his own. The void's echo.
His chest tightened. He drew in a shaky breath.
A hand pressed his shoulder. "Scholar."
Elian jolted. Lyra crouched over him, her braid brushing his cheek. In the dim light of the alcove, her eyes gleamed sharp and alert.
"We need to move," she whispered.
He rubbed at his eyes. "Already?"
"Already," she said. "We stayed too long."
She rose in one fluid motion, adjusting the scarf over her mouth. The set of her shoulders was different today—tighter, wary.
Elian pushed himself upright, bones protesting. "Did you hear something?"
Lyra's gaze flicked toward the tunnel mouth. "Not hear. Feel. The air changes when hunters are close."
Elian froze, heart hammering. "The Guard?"
Lyra didn't answer. She didn't need to.
They slipped back into the crawlspace, Elian's limbs screaming as he dragged himself along the dirt tunnel. The air was colder now, damp settling into his bones. His torch sputtered with each shift of his hand, shadows writhing like living things.
Every scrape of stone against his boots felt too loud. Every ragged breath echoed like thunder in his ears.
When they emerged into the wider tunnel beyond, Lyra didn't pause. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, her pace quick and deliberate.
"Don't fall behind," she hissed.
"I'm not—" His foot caught on a loose stone. He stumbled, nearly dropped the torch.
Her grip tightened. "You are. Quiet your fear before it kills us both."
The words cut, but he bit back his retort. She was right. The panic in him was a roaring tide, threatening to drown reason.
He forced himself to breathe slower. In. Out. Focus.
Minutes stretched like hours. The tunnels twisted, narrowed, widened again, each turn disorienting. Elian tried to map them in his head, but the pathways blurred together.
Then—he heard it.
Faint. Distant. The crunch of boots on stone.
Elian froze, breath caught in his throat. He turned toward the sound, eyes wide.
Lyra was already moving, shoving him into a side passage. The torch guttered dangerously as the air shifted, pulling them into darkness.
They pressed themselves flat against the wall. Lyra blew out the flame with a sharp breath, plunging them into black.
The darkness was total. Smothering.
Elian's heart pounded loud enough he was sure it would give them away. He tried to still it, but the sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing closer through the tunnel.
Torches flared in the distance. Voices, hushed but firm. Steel whispered against sheaths.
The Guard.
Elian's chest constricted. His vision swam. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping aloud.
Beside him, Lyra pressed a hand against his chest, fingers splayed. A warning. A command. Still.
Her touch was steady, grounding, even as the heat of it burned through his tunic.
The squad marched past the mouth of their passage. Kaelen was at their head.
Even in fleeting torchlight, his presence struck like a blade. His armor gleamed dully, soot-stained but immovable. His gaze was sharp, scanning every shadow as though he could peel them back with sheer will.
Elian's throat constricted. He remembered those eyes—calm, unyielding, as they had locked on him in the Athenaeum.
A soldier's voice carried softly. "Fresh tracks here, sir."
Kaelen crouched, touched the ground. The torchlight caught on the scar across his jaw, his expression carved from stone.
"They're close," Kaelen said. His voice was low, steady, certain.
Elian's knees threatened to give out. Lyra's hand pressed harder against his chest, holding him steady, pinning him to silence.
The squad moved on, torches dwindling into the dark.
For a long moment, Elian didn't breathe. Couldn't breathe.
When the last glimmer of light vanished, Lyra slowly released her hand. She leaned close, lips brushing his ear.
"Now you see," she whispered. "They won't stop. Not until you're in chains—or ash."
Her words were bitter, but there was no mockery in them this time. Only grim truth.
Elian swallowed hard, the echo of Kaelen's gaze still burning in his chest.
"I… I can't outrun them forever."
Lyra studied him, her face unreadable in the dark. "Then you learn. You use what's inside you. Or you die."
The void pulsed at her words, as though it had been waiting to hear them. Elian felt it stir, hungry and eager. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat.
"I don't want it," he whispered.
Lyra's eyes gleamed faintly as she tilted her head. "Then you'd better want survival more."
They moved again, deeper into the labyrinth. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the occasional drip of water or the distant scurry of rats.
Elian's mind spun, torn between terror and the pull of the darkness inside him. Kaelen's face haunted him—the unyielding certainty, the vow in his voice.
Would Kaelen kill him without hesitation? Or would that flicker of doubt he thought he'd seen still linger?
He didn't know which frightened him more.
Lyra stopped suddenly, hand raised. Elian nearly collided with her.
Ahead, the tunnel split again. One path sloped downward into deeper black. The other slanted upward, faint drafts carrying fresher air.
She studied both, jaw tight.
"Which?" Elian whispered.
Lyra's lips thinned. "Up takes us closer to the surface. Safer from gangs. But easier for the Guard to corner us. Down leads deeper. Harder for them to track. But…" She trailed off.
"But?"
Her eyes were shadows. "The deeper you go, the less the gangs matter. Other things live there. Forgotten things."
Elian shivered. "So we choose which way we want to die."
Her mouth curved in a humorless smirk. "Welcome to the undercity, scholar."
They chose down.
The air thickened with each step. The stone walls closed in, damp and slick. Elian's torch sputtered weakly, fighting to stay alive.
The silence pressed heavier here. Even the rats were gone.
Elian's skin crawled. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—not by Kaelen, not by gangs, but by something older, patient, waiting.
The void stirred again, whispering in a voice without words. A soundless promise.
Elian stumbled, gripping the wall.
Lyra turned sharply. "What is it?"
He shook his head, gasping. "It's… nothing. Just—"
But his eyes betrayed him.
Lyra saw. Her gaze hardened. "Don't lose yourself down here. If you go hollow on me, I'll put a knife in your throat before the Guard ever gets the chance."
The words cut sharper than steel. But beneath them, Elian thought he heard something else—fear.
Not just of him. For him.
He couldn't be sure.
And in that uncertainty, the void pulsed stronger.