The tunnels stretched on forever, a twisting skeleton beneath the city's skin. Kieran kept one hand on the slimy wall, the other gripping the battered radio like it was a lifeline. The fugitives followed close, their breaths shallow, their footsteps splashing softly in the shallow water. The air was thick with mold and rot, and each drip from the ceiling echoed like a drumbeat in the silence.
Behind them, the hunt continued. The Enforcers hadn't given up—he could still hear the faint clang of metal, the muffled thrum of their mechanical servos filtering through the cracks above. They were moving with terrifying patience, herding him through the underworks like wolves pushing prey toward a trap.
Kieran clenched his teeth. He wasn't going to be anyone's prey.
The scarred girl whispered behind him, "Do you even know where this goes?"
"No," Kieran admitted. "But if we keep moving, we stay ahead of them. That's what matters."
The older man muttered, "Feels like we're running deeper into hell."
Kieran ignored him. He forced himself to focus on the map burned into his memory—the one he and Maya had decrypted, the glowing pathways beneath the city. He didn't know if these tunnels matched the map, but he felt a strange pull, a sense of direction that seemed to align with the signal still pulsing from the radio.
The group rounded a bend and came to a chamber where the tunnel split in three directions. Water pooled at their feet, reflecting faint light from patches of glowing moss. The fugitives exchanged uneasy glances.
"Which way?" the scarred girl asked.
Kieran held up the radio. The static flared, then quieted, the pulsing rhythm faint but steady. He turned in a slow circle. At the left tunnel, the signal weakened. Straight ahead, it stayed steady. To the right… it grew stronger, vibrating in his palm.
"Right," he said firmly.
They didn't argue. Exhaustion and fear made them compliant, though he could feel the weight of their doubt pressing on him. If this was the wrong choice, it would be on him.
They pressed on. The right-hand tunnel narrowed, the ceiling dropping low enough that they had to stoop. Pipes rattled overhead, dripping foul liquid into the water below. Every sound seemed amplified—the hiss of steam, the scrape of boots, the distant mechanical hum.
Then came a sharper sound: a metallic clang from behind them.
"They're in the tunnels," the older man whispered, panic tightening his voice.
Kieran's gut twisted. The Enforcers had adapted, cutting off escape routes. His grip on the radio tightened. He couldn't afford to panic. Not now.
"Keep moving," he urged, forcing strength into his tone. "Don't stop for anything."
The tunnel sloped downward, the water rising to their knees. Cold seeped through Kieran's clothes, numbing his legs, but he pushed forward. Ahead, the tunnel opened into a wide chamber filled with rusted machinery, half-submerged platforms, and collapsed catwalks dangling like broken bones.
Kieran slowed, scanning the shadows. The signal from the radio pulsed faster here, sharper, like a heartbeat on the edge of panic. Something was close—something important.
And then he heard it.
Not the steady march of the Enforcers. Not the drip of water or the hiss of pipes.
A whisper.
Soft, broken, but unmistakable. A voice, threading through the static.
"Kieran…"
He froze, his breath caught in his throat. The fugitives stared at him, confused.
The voice came again, faint but clearer this time.
"Kieran… youhavetomove… now."
It was Maya's voice.
Kieran's chest tightened. He didn't know if it was real or just some trick of the radio—but he couldn't ignore it.
"Run!" he barked, surging forward onto the nearest platform.
A second later, the chamber behind them erupted in light as Enforcers dropped through a grate, their armor gleaming, their red visors slicing through the darkness.
The chase was no longer distant. It was here.