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The phone's echo still rang in Cass's ears long after the line went dead.
"You shouldn't have opened the box."
The distorted voice crawled over his skin like insects. He slowly replaced the receiver, his hand trembling despite the iron grip he tried to keep.
Elara sat rigid at the table, her knuckles white where they clutched the journal. Her lips moved soundlessly, repeating the words, as if by repeating them she could strip them of their power.
The storm outside deepened, rattling the patched window with gusts that felt like fists. Every creak of the house sounded amplified, hostile.
Cass forced himself to move. He strode back to the table, grabbed the journal from Elara's hands, and tucked it under his jacket. "We're leaving."
"What?" Her voice cracked. "It's the middle of the night, Cass. In this storm—"
"Someone's out there. You heard them. They're not just calling to scare us—they're close."
As if summoned by his words, a thump reverberated against the side of the house. Both froze.
Another thump, this time along the porch.
Elara's breath quickened. "They're here."
Cass grabbed the flashlight and clicked it off, plunging them into dimness lit only by the stuttering kitchen bulb. "Pack light. Just the bag."
Before Elara could protest, a sharp crack split the air. Glass shattered in the front room.
"They're inside."
Adrenaline slammed into Cass. He yanked Elara up from her chair and pulled her toward the back door. Rain hammered down as he shoved it open, the storm swallowing them instantly.
Elara stumbled, clutching his arm as the wind nearly knocked her sideways. The night smelled of ozone and smoke, lightning clawing the sky in jagged bursts.
Behind them, the floorboards groaned. A shadow moved through their kitchen.
"Go!" Cass barked.
They sprinted into the rain-slick yard, feet pounding over mud and gravel. The beam of another flashlight swept across the house, cutting through the storm. Cass shoved Elara low behind the garden shed.
Boots splashed through puddles. A voice carried over the storm—low, calm, too close.
"Bring me the book."
Elara pressed a fist to her mouth, eyes wide with terror.
Cass shook his head sharply. Not a chance.
He tugged her hand, and they bolted again, vaulting the back fence and dropping into the alley. Pain shot up his knees on impact, but he forced his legs to keep moving.
The alley stank of wet garbage, rainwater rushing along the gutters. They skidded around a corner, shoes slipping. Behind them, another pair of footsteps slapped the pavement—measured, relentless.
Elara risked a glance back. Lightning lit the alley in stark white, and for a split second she saw him: a tall figure in a dark coat, face obscured by a mask of smooth black, blank as obsidian.
She nearly screamed.
Cass yanked her forward. "Don't look!"
They ran. The city blurred around them—boarded-up storefronts, shuttered windows, darkened streetlamps swaying in the storm. Cass's lungs burned, but fear pushed him faster.
They reached the main road, deserted at this hour. Water sheeted down the asphalt, reflecting the wild lightning above. Cass dragged Elara across, splashing through ankle-deep puddles.
The masked figure followed without hesitation, his strides long, predatory.
"We won't outrun him," Elara gasped.
"Then we hide."
Cass's eyes darted, searching. He spotted a rusted service grate near the curb. He crouched, wedged his fingers into it, and heaved. It groaned, stubborn against years of rust. The footsteps pounded closer.
Elara bent beside him, adding her weight. Together they wrenched it open, the iron screaming against stone. The reek of damp earth and sewage wafted up.
Cass didn't hesitate. He shoved the journal into her arms. "Go. Now."
Her fear warred with instinct, but she obeyed, swinging her legs over and lowering herself into darkness. Water splashed as she dropped into the tunnel below.
Cass followed, gripping the edge, then sliding down into blackness. The flashlight swung wildly in his grip, its beam slicing across wet stone and trickling streams.
Above, a shadow fell over the grate. A hand—a gloved, pale hand—gripped the bars.
Cass's chest seized.
The grate slammed shut.
For a moment there was only silence, punctuated by thunder above and dripping water below.
Then the footsteps began again, this time echoing along the street directly above their heads. Slow. Deliberate. Tracking.
Elara shivered, hugging the journal to her chest. "We're trapped."
"No," Cass said, scanning the tunnel. "We've got cover."
The passage stretched in both directions, black and endless. Their only light came from his wavering flashlight. The walls dripped, moss slicking the stone. Faded markings clung to the bricks—graffiti, maybe, but some shapes looked older, carved rather than sprayed.
Cass took Elara's hand. "This way."
They sloshed through ankle-deep water, every step echoing too loud. Rats scattered ahead of them, vanishing into cracks.
Above, faintly, came the sound of the masked man's boots pacing. Following.
At the first junction, the tunnel split in three. Cass hesitated, scanning the dripping arches.
Elara's eyes darted to the journal. She flipped it open with trembling fingers, shielding it from the rainwater dripping off her hair. On one page, beneath her father's sketches of tunnels, a crude compass rose pointed not north, but east.
"Left," she whispered.
Cass didn't question. He tugged her into the left passage just as a clang echoed behind them—the grate wrenching open again.
"He's coming," Elara whispered, voice raw.
They ran. The tunnel narrowed, forcing them single file. Cass's flashlight beam jittered over stone carved with symbols—arrows, sigils, strange runes half-lost to moss.
Elara's chest burned, but she couldn't slow. Her father's journal thumped against her ribs with every stride, as though alive, demanding to be carried deeper.
Behind them, boots splashed. Closer now.
Cass risked a glance back. The flashlight's beam caught a flicker of movement—a dark silhouette gliding through the tunnel, impossibly fast.
"Run!" he barked.
The passage opened suddenly into a wider chamber, a junction where four tunnels met. In the center, a rusted ladder climbed to a round hatch above. Cass shone the light up—thick bolts, sealed shut. No escape.
Elara spun in panic. "Cass—"
The figure appeared in the mouth of the tunnel.
For a heartbeat, lightning from a street grate above seared the chamber in white light. The mask gleamed—smooth black, featureless except for a faint etching across the forehead, like an eye scratched into the surface.
Elara froze.
Cass didn't. He roared and swung the flashlight like a bat. It cracked against the wall, sparks flying as the bulb shattered. Darkness swallowed them.
Elara screamed.
Cass grabbed her arm and yanked her into one of the side tunnels, praying the figure's vision was no better than theirs. They stumbled blind, hands scraping along the wet wall, boots splashing through the current.
Behind them, footsteps resumed. Calm. Steady. Unstoppable.
Cass cursed under his breath. He reached into his pocket, fumbling until his fingers closed on the lighter he always carried. With a flick, a weak flame sputtered to life, throwing trembling shadows.
It was enough.
The passage ahead sloped downward. The trickle of water grew louder, becoming a roar.
A sudden drop-off loomed—a spillway where the runoff cascaded into a deeper drain below. The drop was ten feet at least, the water churning black.
Cass's stomach clenched. "We jump."
Elara's eyes widened. "Are you insane?"
"Do you want him to catch us?"
Behind them, a silhouette appeared, blocking the tunnel. The lighter's flame danced across that obsidian mask.
Elara made her choice. Clutching the journal tight, she leapt.
Water swallowed her with a splash.
Cass followed, teeth gritted against the cold shock as the current dragged him under. He fought his way to the surface, gasping. The journal's leather cover glistened in Elara's arms as she kicked frantically to stay afloat.
They were swept along, slammed against walls, spinning through the pitch-black drain. Cass grabbed her shoulder, holding her above water as best he could.
The current carried them into another chamber, where the water finally shallowed enough to stand. They stumbled out, soaked and shivering, coughing up mouthfuls of grit.
Elara clutched the journal as if it were her lifeline.
Cass pushed wet hair from his eyes, scanning the darkness. The masked man was nowhere to be seen.
But the echo of his voice whispered through the tunnels, carried by the storm drains like a ghost:
"The Veil sees."
Elara's knees buckled. Cass caught her, holding her upright. His chest heaved with exhaustion, but his mind burned.
They were no longer just running from shadows. Their pursuer had a name, a purpose, a mask that spoke of something vast and organized.
And he wanted the journal.
Cass tightened his grip on Elara, his other hand resting over the book pressed to her chest.
"We can't go back," he said, voice ragged. "Not to the house. Not anywhere they can find us."
Elara's teeth chattered, but her eyes shone with fear and determination. "Then where do we go?"
Cass stared into the darkness of the tunnels, listening to the storm rage above.
The answer waited in the journal—the only map they had.
But the tunnels seemed to breathe around them, alive with unseen watchers.
And as they staggered deeper, a chilling truth set in:
They hadn't escaped.
They had just stepped inside the labyrinth.
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