Like metal jangling.
The sound is too light to be the chain armour of the warriors. Those threads of metal are slight but dense, and they sound heavier than whatever that noise is up ahead.
Then it comes again, louder, or we’re just getting closer to it—
And the sound steals me back in time, it drops me into memories of jumping fences when I was young.
A chain fence.
Fae at the tip of the rope are ripping a fence apart. And steps are unfaltering. The run rushes ahead—and when I dip with Samick, like he’s ducking for a quick moment, I suspect I’m right.
The run is short from the fence to the loud groan of what sounds like a solid metal door.
Something strikes the metal, like boots, and the crashing bellow that comes with it jolts me.
Samick’s hand on my head tenses, as if… as if to reassure me—but all that does is push my head down more, too much, and my neck is straining.
Everything shifts.
Itfeelsdifferent.
Sound isn’t spread out in the darkness anymore. It’s echoing, like it comes down a tunnel or a hallway.
The rain doesn’t belt me anymore, doesn’t batter my rain jacket or soak my already drenched sweatpants.
I hear the rain still pelting the earth, but as though I’m undercover, it can’t touch me.
And the hail…
It’s out there, still. And it’s here, too. Smacking down on the roof of wherever we are.
Now, it’s nothing like trees splitting.
Now, it’s metal crashing into metal, it’s the impact of a fucking explosive, like cannons are being fired down on us.
But the hail doesn’t come through the roof of this shelter.
Samick’s hand relaxes on my head, then slips away. For a beat, his hand rests on my waist—and holds. Then he tugs me off of him.
I unwrap my limbs from his solid body, but I do it unwillingly.
His hand firms on my waist, as if to give me that bit of guidance, reassurance maybe, and he peels me off of him until my boots come down on concrete.
My heartrate isn’t as stable as the hard floor.
Samick takes my wrist and leads me deeper into this cold shelter, but my chest is jutting with the panic of being caught out in the storm.
He follows the unit, the rope lined through the warriors, and we walk the concrete floor for a few minutes until there’s a pause that stops us.
More metal clatters.
More doors booted in.
A gate wrangled.
Those are my guesses, and I don’t want to ask, not with the unit suddenly nonverbal—but not quiet. Not with the moans of the injured, the thick coughs rumbling down the corridor, and the bootsteps echoing off the walls.
Another strike of metal clangs down my bones, another passageway revealed—and the unit moves again.
