Page 22 of Enslak

She directed me through the tunnels, her voice soft in my ear, telling me where to turn. I followed without question, my feet finding purchase on the slick stone, my body moving with a grace I'd forgotten I possessed.

Time passed. The tunnels twisted and turned. The smell never improved.

But I didn't care.

I was carrying something precious. Something worth protecting.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt something other than pain and emptiness.

I felt purpose.

Chapter 6

Niki

The collar hit the floor with a clatter that seemed impossibly loud in the silence of the cell. For a moment neither of us moved. I stared at the metal band lying on the filthy stone, unable to believe I'd actually done it, that we were both still alive.

My implants were still running overlays, temperature readings dropping across my vision: 47 degrees, 43, 38. Safe. The explosive components cooling. We were safe.

I blinked the display away.

Looked up at him.

Jesus Christ.

Up close, without the distraction of trying not to blow us both to hell, he was massive. Had to be eight feet, maybe more, with shoulders that filled the entire cell and a body that was wrong in ways that made my stomach turn. Patches of scales. Grafted skin from God knew what. Fur interrupted by sections that didn't belong.

Claws like scythes and teeth that belonged on something that hunted in nightmares.

His hair hung in matted locks streaked white, falling past his shoulders. He wore only a pair of leather pants, nasty and tattered by time.

He looked like a monster.

But those eyes, gold set in blue, pure Vaktaire.

And when he reached for my hands, when those massive claws closed around my fingers with impossible gentleness, I knew I'd made the right call.

His skin was warm, rough where scales interrupted the pelt, but his touch was careful. Tender. Like he was afraid of breaking me.

"Come with me," I said softly in Vaktaire, the modulator translating. "We have to go now."

He stood, still holding my hand.

I led him to the cell door. It opened, Binwee's hack working perfectly, and beyond it stretched the passage she'd mapped, dark and narrow, leading down.

The smell hit immediately. Not just sewage but something worse, something that made my eyes water and my throat close. The stench was physical, coating the inside of my nose and mouth with every breath. Decay, biological waste, chemicals, and underneath it all, something sweet and putrid that made my stomach heave.

I'd been in the sewers under New York, chased suspects through tunnels that reeked of human waste and industrial runoff. Rogers had told me about the time he'd seen something moving in the water under Grand Central, something with too many legs and eyes that reflected his flashlight. He'd sworn off sewers after that.

I'd laughed at him.

I wasn't laughing now.

The passage was slick, with walls so close Enslak's shoulders nearly brushed them. Water, or something like water, dripped from above and hit my shoulder with a wet plop that made me flinch.

I could barely see. My implants gave me just enough light amplification to make out shapes, the green-tinged vision showing the tunnel stretching ahead, its floor covered in something that moved when disturbed.

I didn't want to know what it was.