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Rachel's hand paused on the zipper, her breath a whisper in the heavy gloom. The canvas trembled under her touch as if it held a breath of its own. She cast a glance at Ethan — his nod was slight, imperceptible to any but her.
"Ready?" Her voice was a low hum, barely cutting through the silence.
"Go for it," Ethan replied, his words compact, guarded against the thick air.
With a swift tug, the flap parted, metal teeth yielding to reveal the tent's secrets. Sunbeams from the gaps in the ceiling invaded the dimness, tendrils of light grasping at the shadows within.
For a heartbeat, time stalled—then chaos erupted.
A figure surged from the gloom, a blur against the patchy canvas. Rachel's hand shot out, her reflexes honed by years of solitudes and survivals taught by an aunt long estranged. But the form slipped past, ephemeral as smoke.
"Stop!" Ethan's command boomed, chasing the fleeing silhouette.
Boots thudded on the tunnel floor, the cacophony ricocheting off the walls. Rachel's heart hammered, pumping adrenaline with each stride. They had come too far, delved too deep to watch their lead vanish into the bowels of this forsaken place.
"Hey!" she called out, desperation edging her voice.
The figure didn't slow, didn't look back. A primal instinct fueled Rachel's pursuit.
Rachel and Ethan rushed after the fleeing figure, racing deeper into the dark tunnels.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The tunnel swallowed them, a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to stretch into infinity. Rachel's breath came in short, sharp gasps, her boots pounding the dusty ground in rhythm with the fugitive's desperate sprint ahead. Shadows clung to the rough walls, flitting away as the beam from Ethan's flashlight cut through them.
"Keep up," she hissed, the words slicing through the thick air.
Ethan was right on her heels, silent save for the steady drum of his own pursuit.
Rachel could hear the young man's ragged breathing now, coming back to her in disjointed echoes. She willed her legs to move faster, the image of the fleet-footed figure etched into her mind’s eye. Her jaw set, every muscle coiled like a spring, all her training honing to this singular moment of capture.
"Almost there," Ethan grunted, voice low, a mantra for the hunt.
She didn't respond, couldn't afford the breath. Instead, Rachel let her instincts guide her, each stride bringing her closer to the truth that lay embodied in the fleeing youth. The chill of the tunnel seeped into her bones, yet it could not cool the fire of her resolve.
A sudden turn loomed, and the figure darted left with the agility of a cornered animal. But Rachel anticipated the move, her training merging seamlessly with an innate sense of the quarry. She banked hard, gravel skittering beneath her feet, the gap between them narrowing.
"Careful!" Ethan called out, a note of caution threading through the urgency.
She heard him, processed the warning, but her focus was laser-sharp, fixated on the form just arms' length away now. Rachel felt the thrill of the chase spike her adrenaline, every sense heightened, every thought channeled into the next move, the inevitable confrontation.
"Stop!" The command was futile; they were beyond words now.
Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom, picking out the nuances of movement, the panicked tilt of the young man's head as he glanced back. He was close enough for her to see the stark fear etched on his face, the spiky silhouette of his hair against the scant light, evidence of his youth and his desperation.
"Rachel," Ethan breathed, a whisper lost in the cacophony of their chase.
But she was already reaching out, fingers grazing the fabric of the figure's jacket, her heart thundering in her ears.
The young man's shadow veered a desperate zigzag. Muscle memory surged through Rachel, her body coiling like a spring. She launched forward, the gap between them vanishing with a predator's grace. Her hands latched onto fabric; momentum carried them both down in a tangle of limbs.
"Please!" he gasped out as they hit the ground, his voice ragged with panic. "Don't—"
"Quiet," Rachel hissed, pinning him beneath her. The tunnel's damp air filled their lungs in heavy draughts. "What's your name?" she snapped.
"T-tommy. Who the hell--"
"Ranger Blackwood. Stop struggling, Tommy."
