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Tak-tak-tak.

Harrison stopped.

No mistaking it now.

Directly beneath his feet.

He swept the light around the cramped plant room until it caught on a square steel hatch set into the floor. Harrison dropped beside it and grabbed the recessed handle.

It didn’t move.

“Jake, I’m here.”

The tapping stopped. “Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit… Harry.”

Relief punched through Harrison so hard he almost laughed. He ran the light around the edge of the hatch until he found the problem: a heavy metal bar had been shoved across it.

Harrison grabbed it and hauled. “Stand back from the hatch.”

“Not got a lot of options down here, mate.”

Harrison snorted.

Jake was taking the piss.

Good.

Taking the piss meant conscious.

So he braced one foot against the floor and hauled harder. Rust grated against metal, the bar shifting an inch, then another, until it finally gave with a shriek that tore through the plant room.

Harrison threw it aside and dragged the hatch open.

Hot, stale air rose out of the darkness.

“Jake?”

Harrison dropped to his knees and shone the light into the opening. Jake was a few feet beneath him, slumped against a huge ventilation duct on the narrow metal walkway. Dust coated his hair and skin, blood streaked both hands and his top was torn open along one side.

Jake tipped his head back. Smiled. “You heard me?”

Harrison let out a breath that felt as though it’d been trapped in his chest for the past ten minutes. “Yeah. I heard you.”

“Was I good?”

Harrison could’ve laughed. “Best I’ve ever heard.”

Jake grinned, then immediately winced. “Fuck. I’m a bit fucked down here. Shoulder’s bad. Ankle’s twisted. Ribs are—”

“Don’t move.”

“Sorta need to.”

Harrison frowned. “Why?”