Page 199 of Sinister

Sin has switched on the light of his phone and is holding it out before him; I do the same.

Upon looking around, I see that the walls are hewn from the same roughly cut stone as the floor of the mausoleum and are slick with centuries of moisture.

The ceiling is low, forcing Sin to stoop slightly as we walk deeper.

A petrichor smell sweetens the air, along with the faint, musty aroma of long-forgotten and rarely used spaces.

The sound of our footsteps eerily bounces off the walls; they are multiplied so cunningly that I keep thinking we are being followed, that some fanatic Puritan foaming at the mouth at the prospect of drawing Arnoult blood has slipped into the tunnels with us.

Imagine if it’s Edwin’s father, my inner voice adds, and I almost chuckle at the insane idea.

“Stay close,” Sin whispers in a steady voice, but some buried instinct in me to doubt him has resurfaced.

Hadn’t he told me that the tomb contained the body of Arnoult the First, his lover, and their unborn child? But the tomb had been empty, a façade for the secret exit out of the mausoleum.

So why had he lied to me?

Most importantly, why is he withholding information that could help our investigation?

Yet he had pulled me out of the fire and used his body to shield me. At every turn, he prioritized my safety over his.

For the moment, my doubts are dispelled, and gratitude bubbles up in my heart for this kindhearted, fiercely protective guy who’s been snatching me away from the jaws of death—by water and by fire—since the day we met.

I grip his hand tightly, the rough texture of his skin grounding me in the suffocating darkness.

“How much farther do you think it is?” I ask softly.

“Hard to say, Petra,” he replies, his tone calm but focused. “You just keep holding on to me, okay? Do you want me to pick you up and carry you?”

“No!” I reply, more forcefully than I had intended, and he almost takes a step back. “I mean, I can walk. You look so tired as well.”

He smiles and ruffles my hair affectionately before taking my hand in his again.

As we walk, my fingers trail along the damp walls, feeling the uneven surface of the stones.

The tunnel occasionally narrows further, forcing us to squeeze through tight passages.

“We’ll get out of this. We’ll get out of this,” I keep murmuring to myself, not knowing or caring whether Sin can hear me.

I suppose I’m also talking to the you-know-who inside me, as my hand strokes my stomach and I try to slow down my heartbeat.

“We will,” Sin says while squeezing my hand. “We don’t have a choice.” These last words sound odd, and he has a wistful smile when he says them, but I don’t dwell on it too long.

“Watch your step,” Sin cautions, glancing back at me. “The last thing we need is a twisted ankle.”

“To be honest, I’m more worried about what’s ahead,” I reply in a tone that, to my delight, sounds aloof and wry.

But I am stunned when a faint glimmer of light reaches us through the end of the tunnel.

“What’s that?” I cry out. Sin clears his throat and looks uncomfortable, so I shake his arm and say, “You can see that too, right?”

The light grows stronger as we approach.

He nods, and his pace quickens slightly. “Yeah. I do. It’s a sign we’re getting somewhere. Just a bit farther.”

A few steps later, we walk through a circular opening and into a larger chamber.

My eyes widen.