The pounding came again, shaking dust from the ceiling. The sound wasn't just loud—it had weight, each impact pressing through the floor and into my bones.
Lena didn't hesitate. She hauled a crate across the room, boots grinding on the concrete. I joined her, shoving until the muscles in my shoulders screamed. The box slammed against the door just as another blow landed. The hinges wailed.
We stacked more—wood scraping wood—until a barrier of crates and metal bins stood between us and whatever was outside. My breath came fast, misting in the chill air, but my ears strained for the next strike.
It never came.
Instead, silence seeped in. It was worse than the pounding. Silence meant it was thinking.
I could hear the faint creak of the lantern swaying overhead, the tiny crackle of its flame. My own heartbeat felt too loud.
Then—a scrape. A slow, deliberate drag of something sharp along the steel. The sound dug under my skin, set my teeth on edge.
A voice followed. Smooth, deep, almost pleasant. "Lena."
She froze, body rigid. Her hand found the knife at her belt without looking.
"It's cold out here," the voice continued. "Let me in."
The words curled in the air like smoke. Too calm. Too patient.
"You've got something I want. Just hand him over."
The meaning sank in like a stone dropping through water. Me.
The crates shuddered under another impact. Dust burst from the seams of the wall. I looked at Lena, but her gaze stayed fixed on the door, jaw tight.
The voice came again, but it fractured midway, splintering into something wrong—too many tones speaking at once. "You can't keep him forever."
Another blow. This one warped the top hinge. A sliver of black slid into the gap, jointed and clawed.
Lena moved fast. She crossed to the far wall, running her fingers along the stone until she found a faint seam. Her knife slid into it, twisted, and with a grinding shift, a narrow gap appeared.
Cold air spilled through, carrying the damp, earthy scent of something ancient.
It wasn't a door. It was a crack in the building itself. Barely wide enough for me to fit.
She shoved me toward it. I didn't argue.
The barricade gave another lurch. Wood splintered. Metal groaned. The clawed limb flexed against the crate, pushing deeper.
I dropped into the gap. Stone scraped my shoulders and hips, my boots slipping on loose gravel. Behind me, Lena forced the panel shut. The moment it sealed, the barricade broke.
The sound that followed wasn't a roar—it was worse. Layers of voices tangled together, speaking in a language I didn't want to understand.
I kept crawling. The tunnel was narrow, forcing me forward on my hands and knees. My breath came harsh, loud in my own ears. The air was colder here, pressing in from all sides.
Something moved behind us. Slow. Methodical. The scrape of claws against stone.
I pushed harder, knees throbbing from the impact with each shove forward. My fingers found a rise in the floor—an incline. The tunnel tilted upward, promising an exit I couldn't yet see.
The scraping grew louder.
We climbed. The incline steepened, the air sharpening with every foot gained. Loose stones rolled under my palms. The darkness felt heavier the further we went.
A sharp crack echoed behind. I didn't want to picture what caused it.
Cold wind met my face—faint but real. Ahead, a faint slit of light glimmered through jagged stone.
I lunged for it, shoving my arms through, forcing my shoulders to follow. The stone tore at my jacket. I didn't care.
Fresh air hit me like a shock. I tumbled out into the open, rolling onto frost-crusted grass.
Lena emerged seconds later, landing in a crouch, knife still in hand. Her eyes darted to the tunnel entrance.
The scraping had stopped.
We waited. Listening. Nothing came through.
But the air smelled wrong—too still, too heavy for the open field around us. The kind of stillness that came before something moved.
Lena grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a stand of skeletal trees in the distance. We didn't run, not yet. Running would draw attention.
Behind us, in the black mouth of the tunnel, something shifted.
I didn't look back.