The tunnel beyond the chamber was a jagged scar in the earth, its walls rough-hewn and slick with condensation, swallowing Elias Varn and Rory Tate as they stumbled from the collapsing fissure. The air was damp and cold, heavy with the musk of wet stone and a faint, lingering ozone that prickled Elias's skin. His bare feet sank into shallow puddles, the thin gray gown clinging to his trembling frame, and without his glasses, the world blurred into smears of shadow and faint blue echoes from the Shroud's fading glow. The ember in his chest flickered, a muted heat dulled by exhaustion and the sedative's lingering chill, but it pulsed still, a reminder of the presence he couldn't escape.
Rory dragged him forward, his patched hoodie torn and dripping, his red hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and grime. His skateboard dangled from one hand, scuffed and cracked from the fight, and his other arm braced Elias, steady despite the wince that flickered across his freckled face—his ribs bruised, his breath uneven. "Keep going," he panted, voice rough but firm, echoing off the tunnel's jagged walls. "That crazy lady's still on our tail—can't stop now."
Elias's legs buckled, the cold stone biting into his knees as he sank, pulling Rory down with him. "I can't," he rasped, voice breaking as tears streaked the dirt on his cheeks. "It's—it's too much. The Shroud—it's in me, Rory. It's using me." The ember flared faintly, his eyes glowing for a fleeting second, a shimmer that lit the tunnel's gloom before fading. "I'm not a person anymore—I'm a—a thing."
Rory dropped his skateboard, the clatter sharp in the quiet, and gripped Elias's shoulders, shaking him gently. "Hey, cut that crap. You're Elias—messy, scared-shitless Elias, not some puppet." His green eyes burned with a stubborn fire, his freckles stark against his paling skin. "Yeah, it's freaky as hell—that shadow thing, Voss, all of it—but you're still you. And I'm not letting you fall apart down here."
Elias's throat tightened, Rory's words a lifeline he wanted to cling to, but the Shroud's voice lingered, a cold whisper threading through his mind: "You are the spark." He shuddered, hugging himself as the ember ached, a heat he couldn't smother. "It said I'm its voice," he whispered, staring at the blurred floor. "That I wake things—people, powers. It's not going to stop—not ever."
Rory rocked back on his heels, running a hand through his damp hair. "Okay, so you're, like, the world's weirdest alarm clock. Doesn't mean you're done for." He glanced down the tunnel, then fished a crumpled granola bar from his pocket—half-smashed, but intact—and shoved it at Elias. "Eat. You're shaking like a leaf, and I'm not dragging a starving janitor through this hellhole."
Elias took it, fingers trembling as he peeled the wrapper, the sweet crunch a faint anchor against the chaos. "Thanks," he mumbled, swallowing hard, the taste grounding him as the ember settled into a dull pulse. "How do you keep going? After—after everything?"
Rory shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "'Cause I'm too dumb to quit, probably. Grew up bouncing between group homes—learned to roll with the punches." He picked up his skateboard, spinning a wheel absently. "You're my punch now, man. Not leaving you to deal with this alone."
The warmth in Rory's voice pierced Elias's despair, a flicker of light in the void, but it dimmed as a low hum vibrated through the tunnel—not the Shroud's blue, but a mechanical whine, sharp and growing closer. Rory's grin vanished, and he leapt up, vibration humming faintly in his hands. "Drones," he hissed, pulling Elias to his feet. "They're still on us—move!"
They stumbled deeper into the tunnel, the hum swelling behind, and the walls narrowed, forcing them single-file. Elias's bare feet slipped on slick stone, his gown snagging on jagged edges, and the ember flared, his eyes glowing faintly as panic clawed up his spine. The tunnel curved, spitting them into a wider chamber—a forgotten cistern, its ceiling domed and cracked, roots dangling like skeletal fingers. A rusted grate loomed ahead, faint city light seeping through, but the drone's whine echoed louder, a red beam piercing the dark as it swooped in.
"Down!" Rory tackled Elias behind a crumbling pillar, the drone's light missing them by inches. Its dart fired, embedding in the stone with a thunk, and Rory cursed, vibration pulsing as he swung his skateboard, cracking the drone's shell. It sparked, spiraling to the floor, but another buzzed in, then a third, their beams crisscrossing the chamber like a deadly web.
Elias's chest heaved, the ember surging, and his eyes blazed, a pulse breaking free despite the sedative's drag. The drones stuttered, their lights flickering, and one crashed, its red eye winking out. "I—I can't stop it," he gasped, clutching his head as the ember burned, the Shroud's voice whispering: "They hunt the spark."
"Stop apologizing and use it!" Rory snapped, vibration flaring as he smashed another drone, its pieces clattering across the floor. "We're out if you fry these things!" But the third drone adjusted, dart firing—and Elias shoved Rory aside, taking the hit in his shoulder. Cold spread, numbing the ember, and he slumped, vision blurring as Rory shouted his name.
Before darkness took him, a new sound cut through—a sharp crack, not mechanical but human, and the drone exploded midair, shrapnel raining down. A figure dropped from the grate, cloaked in tattered black, their staff glowing green—the stranger from the warehouse, their hollow eyes glinting as they landed. "Beacon," they rasped, voice rough like broken glass. "You're loud—too loud."
Rory spun, vibration humming, but the stranger raised a hand, green light pulsing to deflect his swing. "Not here to fight," they said, stepping closer, their scarred hands steadying Elias as he slumped. "They're close—hunters, more than her. The Shroud's waking too much, too fast."
Elias blinked, the sedative dulling his tongue, but the ember flickered, his eyes glowing faintly. "You—you know it," he slurred, clinging to consciousness. "What—what is it?"
The stranger's lips twitched, a ghost of a grimace. "Old. Deep. A spark that slept—til you screamed." They hauled him up, nodding at Rory. "Kid, help—grate's our out." Rory hesitated, then slung Elias's arm over his shoulder, the vibration settling as he glared at the stranger.
"Why trust you?" Rory demanded, dragging Elias toward the grate, the city's hum faint above.
"Don't," the stranger said, green light flaring as they cracked the grate wider. "But I felt him—same as the others. He's the key, and they'll kill to lock it." They climbed through, pulling Elias after, and Rory followed, the tunnel's dark swallowing the drones' wreckage.
They emerged into an alley, the city's neon glow a harsh contrast to the tunnel's void, and Elias slumped against a dumpster, the sedative fading, the ember stirring. Rain pattered down, cold on his bare feet, and the stranger crouched, green eyes piercing his blur. "The Shroud's not your master," they rasped. "It's a tool—your tool, if you claim it. Hunters'll break you elsewise."
Elias's breath hitched, the ember flaring, and the voice whispered: "You will burn." Above, a chopper's thrum cut the night, its spotlight sweeping close, and the stranger vanished into the shadows, leaving Rory cursing and Elias trembling—a flicker of hope, or a deeper trap.