Footsteps. Dozens of them. Coming from multiple directions.
Tomek’s face goes white. “No.”
“What—”
“They followed me.” He’s already moving, grabbing papers, shoving them at me. “I was careful, I checked for tails, I—it doesn’t matter. They’re here.”
The footsteps grow louder. Closer. I can hear them now in at least three tunnels—the rhythmic march of Attendants moving in formation.
“How many exits?” Kharvek’s voice is flat. Combat-ready.
I scan the chamber. Three drainage channels feed into this space. All of them are producing footsteps now.
“None that aren’t blocked.”
Tomek shoves the key into my hand. The iron is cold against my palm.
“The central basin.” He points at the dark opening where the runoff drains. “It connects to the old ritual processing system. Cramped, but passable. It’ll put you out near the Chamber’s lower levels.”
“What about you?”
He meets my gaze. Holds it.
“I’ll buy you time.”
“Tomek—”
“This is what I’ve been waiting for, Imara.” He pulls a knife from his belt—small, almost pitiful against what’s coming. “Ten years. Ten years of watching people disappear into those halls and never come out. My daughter. My wife. Everyone I ever loved.”
The first Attendants appear at the tunnel mouths. Dark robes, pale faces, the crimson glow of blood-ward amulets at their throats. A dozen at least, with more behind them.
“Let me do something that matters.” Tomek’s voice cracks. “Let me be more than a man who watched.”
Kharvek’s hand finds my arm. Grips hard.
“We can fight?—”
“Not this many. Not in this space.” Tomek is already moving toward the nearest tunnel entrance. “Go. Now. Before they seal the basin.”
“The information about Kharvek?—”
“Ask the Matron.” A terrible smile crosses his face. “She loves to talk about her achievements.”
He charges the first wave of Attendants.
His knife finds a throat. Blood sprays. Bodies fall. More Attendants swarm to fill the gap, and Tomek disappears into the chaos of robes and blades and screaming.
Kharvek yanks me toward the basin. I resist for half a second—watching Tomek fight, watching him fall, watching him rise and fight again?—
“IMARA.”
His voice cuts through the horror. I tear my gaze away. Let him drag me to the basin’s edge.
The opening is narrow. Dark. The smell rising from it is indescribable.
“Go.” Kharvek’s scars are blazing. Power crackles along his scarification, illuminating the fury in his expression. “I’ll hold them while you?—”
“Not without you.” I grip his arm with both hands. “You promised you’d always come back to me. You can’t do that if you’re dead.”
