I squeeze my eyes shut tight, worried for irrational reasons I won’t be able to throw open the door I just slipped inside of, and I will bang my fists along it and break what’s left of my nails trying to claw my way out of here. Sullen will be thousands of miles away, never knowing I died trying to find him.
But before I can slip into darker fear, I hear it again.
The laughter.
Cruel and cutting, like a bite from a rabid animal.
I snap open my eyes, realizing the noise is echoing down the tunnel, from somewhere ahead of me.
I keep my hand out and start walking again, the sound dying off, but I heard it.
I am not crazy.
I am not losing it.
Not yet.
I move faster, understanding I am heading straight for danger, but at least someone is here, and in this place, who else would it be but a member of Writhe?Or its former leader?
If I had to assign the grim laughter to someone, it would be Stein fucking Rule.
And Stein will not let Sullen out of his sight, not again.
But in my head, I think of Isa’s question when I said Stein was hurting Sullen.Let me guess. You know all of this because he told you so?
I frown in the dark, but don’t stop.
I saw the scars myself. The wounds. And we all know he covered his body growing up, progressively more and more until only his face peered out from beneath his hood.
The way he spoke of Stein, though, with such a lack of self-pity… I shake my head. No. I know he wasn’t lying to me. Who else would hurt him in that way? But Isadora’s words onSullenbeing the one to kill Mercy slide into my brain, too.
Seeds of doubt.
But I don’t let them grow.
I saw for myself how manipulative Stein was beneath the modern hotel. I wasn’t much different, acting to get close to him so I could hurt him or the guards, but there was a sly cruelness to Stein I never had much occasion to look for or notice before.
I step over something that seems to squish beneath my shoe, causing my foot to slide and roll along it and I jump, hurrying along, refusing to think of what it might be, or might have been. The image of a serpent is forcefully brought to life inside my head though, and I want to gag.
I clamp my teeth together.
I keep moving, a light sheen of sweat forming along the back of my neck even in the iciness of the tunnel.
Then I hear the murmur of voices.
Another slip of laughter, but it isn’t nearly as loud, and I don’t think it’s Stein this time.
I slow my steps, but I don’t stop moving.
People are speaking.
It’s muffled, and I can’t make out any words or the characteristics of the voices, but more than one person must be ahead.
The tunnel curves, my arm grazing the brick as I am forced to adjust my path.
It’s hard to breathe, and terror seizes every limb, shaking them violently in its grip, but still, I continue on.
The voices grow louder, but no more distinct.
