Page 127 of The Trials of Ophelia

“You have to be careful,” Santorina instructed for the hundredth time. “You shouldn’t be going through there at all.”

“There’s a pathway.” We’d carved a tunnel through the rubble. It was narrow, but we’d supported it by breaking a wooden chair and using the slats to brace the sides. Mystlight flickered around the cracks between stones not too far ahead, leading us to believe there were pockets within the collapse that were reinforced enough to stand. “I’ll crawl through and see what can be found.”

“If you can’t safely continue, you come back,” Esmond commanded. “Once you get to the end of the tunnel, we’ll continue digging.” They’d be able to see the end from here, so they’d know when I was safely out of the way in case proceeding to dig caused another collapse.

“Good luck,” Gatrielle said.

Nodding in thanks, I swung a canteen over my shoulder and grabbed the remaining wooden legs of the chair in case I needed more support. Then, I dropped to my elbows and pulled myself through the opening on my stomach.

It was tight. My shoulders nearly brushed the walls if I moved too quickly. I had to wiggle my way through with small movements rather than rushing along like instinct said to. Counting my breaths, I ignored the panic tickling the back of my neck. Shut down every scarred memory trying to push through.

I almost shouted back to the others to let them know it was okay so far, but the vibrations of my voice could cause some sort of collapse. So, I kept on ahead, following the flickering yellow light in the distance.

With slow, precise movements, I moved rocks aside to lengthen the tunnel. After each chunk, I paused, ensuring it was safe to continue forward. The pace was agonizing, but I kept track of my breathing both to keep myself focused and keep my muscles from locking up beneath the strain.

The mystlight grew brighter.

My arms ached. The tunnel was slightly uphill, I realized, and I’d been dragging myself on an incline.

Light trickled across the ground beyond my fingertips.

Three more large pieces. It took every shred of my control not to shove them away, but I remembered Santorina’s warning. I could make it worse for Mila.

When I finally widened the gap enough to slip through and mystlight rained down the tunnel, I released a relieved breath. I pulled myself free, set down the chair legs, and shook my limbs out, taking a long sip from my canteen and splashing a little over my face.

Once my eyes adjusted to the new light, I observed the pocket. The walls here had been stronger, fortified by brick along one side, arching over two doorways.

“Mila?” I called quietly.

No response.

Fuck, my heart rate quickened. She wasn’t here. Of course the Angels would not make it that easy. Still, trying to summon a shred of hope, I approached the arches. Neither had actual doors on them, simply dim chambers.

I looked past the rounded edge of the first. Empty.

Quickly, I turned away, reminded too much of my own cell with its bare cot and stone walls.

I guess that’s why these rooms were sound, though. The walls were solid rock.

As I crept to the second one, a steady plunk of water met my ears. Something dripping. Bile crept up my throat at the possibilities, every heinous thing that could sound like that, but when I rounded the corner, I saw?—

“Mila?” I burst, running forward and falling to my knees beside her.

I tried to wrap an arm around her, but she jerked away, stuttering, “D-don’t t-touch.”

My heart sank to my stomach, but I leaned back on my heels, giving her air. The dripping filled the silence as she shook, a stream of water trailing from a crack in the ceiling and pooling on the floor a few feet away. And beside that?—

My stomach turned over.

A body lay clad in black leathers, a jagged piece of metal sticking out of his neck. I smelled the blood then—I’d been too preoccupied before to make sense of it. It clung to the air like only death could, mixing with the musty scent of wet stone and dirt.

A combination I knew really fucking well.

I looked between Mila and the intruder. His alliance wasn’t obvious, but I’d bet he wasn’t affiliated with ours.

“Who is that, Mila?” I tried a question with a specific answer, not about her. Mila worked best with organization.

“N-no one. A soldier. Kakias’s. He caused the cave in. I saw him do it.”

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