Page 133 of The Light Within

Within seconds, a mixture of flashlights and lumenmote disks were thrown into hands, and then they were off.

When they first descended the spiral staircase into the greasy dark, Cinn feared there would be no Béatrice to guide them, that she’d leave them to fend for themselves in some cruel twist. However, she was waiting for them only a dozen steps down, tail flicking impatiently.

Down and down they went, the darkness closing in like a tightening veil, despite the soft light they carried. The cool air thickened with thescent of earth and history. And more than a few decayed bodies, Cinn supposed.

They reached the bottom, finding a narrow, dimly lit tunnel. The walls were lined with neatly stacked bones, skulls interspersed as morbid decorations. Of all the places in Paris they could have ended up, did it really have to be here? How and why was Julien in the fucking catacombs?!

They pressed on, each breath of damp air tasting faintly of limestone. The faint glow of their flashlights lit the slick, uneven floor, while the shadows of ancient remains stretched long and ghostly against the walls.

Cinn quickened his steps, the chill of the catacombs clinging to him like a breath from the grave. The tunnels stretched endlessly before him, and Julien seemed impossibly distant, hidden somewhere in their depths. A knot of dread twisted in Cinn’s gut, tightening with every step. How long was this going to take?

“This isn’t creepy or anything,” he muttered to Elliot, who was practically jogging to keep up. Elliot laughed hollowly, but it did nothing to relieve the tension building inside him.

Treading carefully, they followed Béatrice through the next tunnel, but every step grated on Cinn’s nerves. Their footsteps echoed against the low, arched ceilings, forcing him to duck every few paces, which only slowed them down further. The passage stretched on and on,narrowing with every turn, the neatly stacked bones giving way to rough, damp limestone that scraped against his arm when he moved too fast. The cold bit through his clothes, each breath turning to mist, and the distant hum of the city above was swallowed by an oppressive silence that pressed uncomfortably in his ears. Cinn’s eyes locked on Béatrice’s flickering form as she darted ahead with maddening ease, her graceful movements a sharp contrast to his growing frustration. She moved like she belonged here, while every twist and turn of the labyrinth only made him feel more lost—and more desperate to reach Julien.

They turned a corner, and a wider chamber opened around them, where the ceiling arched high above, disappearing into the shadows. The walls were carved with old, fading inscriptions and crude markings left by the hands of explorers from long ago.

Béatrice paused briefly, glancing back at them before slipping through a narrow crack in the wall—almost invisible in the gloom. A cool draft emanated from the passage on the other side.

“Here,” Cinn shouted behind him, pointing towards the narrow opening.

“She’s gone off map,” said Darcy.

Cinn twisted in the narrow space to find her poring over a map of the catacombs. “Where did you find that?”

She didn’t reply, only laid it flush against the wall, tracing the markings with her fingers. Noir joined her, humming to himself as he studied it.

“We’re not going to fit through that crack,” Malik murmured.

“Donotsuggest we blow the tunnel up. I’m not getting buried alive today,” Eleanor said.

Anger coursed through Cinn at the note of finality in her voice. “Well, we have to do something,” he snapped at the woman. “We’ve come this far!”

“I’ll thank you for minding your tone!” Eleanor retorted. Behind her, her two lackeys glared at Cinn.

Cinn glared right back. “I’m going to look around the corner. There might be another way to get there.”

“There’s not,” Darcy said flatly, waving her stupid map in the air. “Come see for yourself.”

“I’m just going to check!”

With that, Cinn marched off. He was done being slowed down. They didn’t have spare minutes to fuck around with maps. He’d find another way, then quickly go back and get them.

Cinn’s frustration carried him deeper into the winding tunnel, the damp air pressing against his skin. He turned one corner, then another, the dim light from the main group fading behind him, swallowed by the shadowed twists of the catacombs. The walls closed in, the passageway narrowing, the labyrinth turning more chaotic with every step.

He should probably go back.

Cinn spun, staring at a tunnel that split in two. Was it the left-hand side? Cinn strode quickly through it, retracing his path, but each turn felt identical, a dizzying maze of stone and bone. Panic began to creep in. Cinn now had no idea which way he’d come from, and the voices of the others were only a distant echo swallowed by the endless dark.

You stupid idiot. Now they’ll have to waste precious time to come look for you.

The air stirred. A chill shot through him.

The shadows pulsed around him, gathering with a sudden, terrifying intensity. Without warning, a dark tendril shot out from the wall, wrapping around his arm like an icy vine.

In shock, he dropped his flashlight, which went rolling across the stone out of reach. He screamed; no sound came. The darkness tightened, tugging him off his feet and dragging himthroughthe stone wall itself. The world around him dissolved into a swirling vortex of cold and black, a void that stretched in every direction. Each of his senses blurred—the feeling of the ground, of weight, of time, all slipping away like water through his fingers.

An eternity passed. Cinn tumbled through the darkness, unable to tell up from down, a sensation of falling and twisting through the unseen passages of the catacombs. Cold air rushed past him, stinging his skin, and faint whispers seemed to brush against his ears, though he couldn’t make out any words. Suddenly, he was thrust forward and spat out violently, landing hard on cold, damp ground.

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