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But my palms run across old earth, and I’m imagining rats and bugs climbing everywhere. I push the thought aside and try to steady my breathing. When the air seems thinner, I stop moving and squeeze my eyes tightly.
“It’s okay, you are fine. Diarmuid will get you.” I say the words out loud for comfort, but they don’t stem the fear that crashes like the waves of a raging sea.
After a while, I hear a pounding sound. It's hard to tell if it's coming from outside, a rescue attempt by Diarmuid, or merely the pounding of my own heart—or perhaps it's the ominous drums of an impending end.
The fear is too much, the exertion and stress overwhelming. The air seems to shrink to less and less as panic consumes me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Diarmuid
IT HAPPENS SUDDENLY, without warning. The narrowness of these underground passages is suffocating. For Selene, it's a tight squeeze, but for me, with my barrel chest, it feels almost impossible. This second tunnel is worse than the first, the walls closing in even tighter, making me acutely aware of the tons of earth pressing down from above.
Somewhere in my mind, a bitter thought flickers to life: the man from the Hands of Kings who oversees these tunnels now must be skinny as a rail. I push through the constricting space by imagining snapping that twig of a man in half. It brings a twisted smile to my lips.
I'm following Selene, watching her effortlessly slither through the gap in front of me. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready to snatch her back at the slightest hint of danger. I've left my tools back in the larger tunnel; there's simply no room to carry them here, not if I want to be ready to help her.
My breaths come in shallow bursts. The walls are too close, preventing me from taking a full breath. Just as I start to adjust, the unthinkable happens.
A loud crash echoes through the tunnel, and suddenly, Selene disappears from my view. At first, my brain can't process the change. I'm frozen, shock rooting me in place. But as the seconds tick by, fury replaces the shock.
Selene.
It wasn't stone that blocked my way. Instead, an ancient wooden door adorned with iron bands and studs lies where Selene once was. It looks like it belongs in a medieval castle, not a tunnel dating back to 3200 BC.
Panic claws at me, but I force it down. I wriggle backward, squeezing myself out into the slightly larger space of the previous tunnel. My flashlight sweeps frantically around as I try to gather my thoughts.
Think, Diarmuid, think.
I grab my tools, my hand landing on the pickaxe. A spike of worry shoots through me. What if she's just on the other side of the door? I can't just swing wildly. The cramped quarters wouldn't allow for it anyway. But I can't just do nothing.
I need to get to Selene.
I don't let myself think about the worst—that she might be crushed, already gone. I can't afford those thoughts. They're a luxury I don't have. Selene is just on the other side of that door. She's alive. She has to be.
With a grunt of determination, I kick my flashlight back into the smaller tunnel. It clatters against the door and rebounds, casting its beam toward me, a spotlight for my grim task. I squeeze back through the gap, the walls pressing against me like a vise.
The pickaxe feels heavy in my hand as I position myself as best I can in the confined space. It's excruciating trying to swing it. I'm used to leveraging my whole body into this kind of work, but here I can only use my arms. The initial swings feel pitifully weak, the dull thuds of metal against wood echoing mockingly in the tight space.
I grit my teeth and let out a bellow, each strike growing more intense. Again and again, I hit the door. My muscles scream in protest, the effort drawing raw, primal sounds from deep within me. I can't lose her. I won't lose her.
When the wood finally starts to crack, something shifts inside me—a wild, desperate hope. Energy surges through my veins, and I drop the pickaxe, attacking the weakening barrier with my bare hands. Splinters dig into my flesh, drawing blood, but I barely feel the pain. I tear at the wood, pieces flying as I desperately carve a path to Selene.
Each chunk of wood I rip away brings me closer to her, each moment filled with a frantic, frenzied urgency.
I'm coming, Selene. Hold on.
I become something feral, driven by instinct and adrenaline. Each swing and tear at the door is more desperate than the last. A drop of my blood splatters onto the lens of my flashlight, distorting the light with a crimson hue. More blood, my own, runs in rivulets down the battered door.
The wood finally starts to give way under the relentless assault. I'm ripping chunks from the door, hurling them into the larger tunnel with wild abandon. When I've cleared enough space, I kick the flashlight back into the larger tunnel to retrieve it, then dive back into the smaller one, driven by the need to reach Selene.
The flashlight's beam reveals Selene's crumpled form. She's curled up awkwardly, motionless, a sight that tightens my chest with a cold grip of fear. I reach in, and as I drag her out, my bloodied hand stains her clothes.
We're back in the larger tunnel now, the light from the flashlight flickering, barely illuminating the shadows. My voice cracks as I scream for her to wake up. In the distance, I hear Niamh calling, but I can't focus on that. Niamh is safe. Selene isn't.
Miraculously, Selene stirs under my frantic pleas. As soon as her eyes flutter open, my lips find hers, not in a kiss of passion, but of desperate relief. She cries, her tears mingling with the blood and dirt on her face, clutching the back of my neck as she pulls herself closer.
"I'm so sorry," she sobs between her tears.
