Chapter Twenty-Two

Ty

The forest is a maze of towering trees and thick underbrush, each step an act of will as exhaustion claws at my body. The dull ache in my leg feels bone-deep, and the sharp edge of hunger gnaws at my stomach, but I push on, driven by a fire that won’t let me fucking stop. Every muscle screams for relief, and when I finally collapse against a tree by the river, it feels like defeat is pressing down on me.

The river hums faintly, mocking me with its steady flow, as if to say I’ll never find what I’m fucking looking for here. I tip my head back against the bark and close my eyes for a moment.

The memory surfaces again vividly—the half-crazed ramblings of a man on the second floor of Sacred Heights, who’d called himself a historian, a self-proclaimed expert on places like Sacred Heights. I remember the way his voice dipped to a whisper and how he talked about underground tunnels built long before the asylum even existed.

At the time, I didn’t give a fuck. His words seemed like the delusions of someone trying to spin a story that made sense to him, but now, that conversation might be the only fucking lifeline I have.

The tunnels.

If they exist—and that’s a big if—they could be my way in. No main gates, no guards, no cameras catching my face. Just shadows and silence.

My fist clenches at the thought that he might’ve been lying. He might’ve been fucking insane. But I don’t have the luxury of rejecting anything right now.

I swipe my hand over my face, the stubble on my jaw scratching against my palm, and lean forward, staring into the river like it holds answers. It doesn’t, of course. Just another dead end. I’ve been stalking this fucking river for hours, my gut telling me the tunnels have to connect to it somehow. Water means erosion, and erosion means openings. At least that’s the logic I’m clinging to. The other part of me—the darker, suspicious side—thinks I’m grasping at fucking straws.

The woods surrounding Sacred Heights have been my prison for the past day and a half. I’ve scouted them, my mind spiraling through every grim possibility of what they could be doing to her. To Raven .

My teeth grind as I think of her. My kitten. The one thing that gives me purpose in this fucking world. I flex my hands at my sides, trying to get myself together for her. Every second she’s in their hands feels like a second too long, and it’s eating the fuck away at me.

I try to piece things together, but my thoughts are a mess. Why did they take her? Is it just to draw me back? If so, it’s working. I’m walking straight into the fucking trap they’ve probably set for me, but I don’t care. I’ll walk through hell if it means getting her out.

I rake a hand through my black hair and let out a low growl, my frustration spilling out. I’m so close to breaking. The thought of what they might be doing to her is a constant knife in my side, twisting deeper with every passing hour.

Every corner of my mind is hers, engraved in jagged pieces that twist and cling. She’s an obsession so deeply chiselled into me, that I’d bleed before I let her go. She own’s every part of me, and I’m addicted to her hold.

But I can’t let it consume me. Not yet. Not now. I need to focus.

I force myself to my feet, my muscles groaning in protest. I stare down the riverbank, searching for anything—a break in the rock, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, anything that could lead me to her.

I continue to trek, now a few miles away from Sacred Heights, until my foot lands on something strange. It feels hollow beneath me, uneven. I halt as my eyes dart to the ground. Slowly, I crouch down, swiping away layers of dirt and leaves with my gloved hand. Beneath them, I find it—a wooden surface, weathered and warped by time. My pulse quickens.

This is it. This is fucking it.

My hands scramble over the surface, searching for some kind of handle, a latch—anything—but there’s nothing. The wood is solid, no visible means of entry. Frustration boils in my veins, but I don’t have time for hesitation. I force myself upright and jump lightly, testing its strength. The ground gives a little, creaking ominously under my weight.

I jump again, harder this time.

CRACK!

The wood splinters beneath me, and suddenly, I’m falling. The world tilts as I’m sucked into the darkness, my body slamming against pointed wooden edges and stone steps. Each impact tears a grunt from my chest, pain shooting through my battered frame. My descent is a violent tumble, bone-jarring and disorienting, until finally, I hit the ground with a loud thud.

I groan, the wind knocked out of me, my vision swimming. Dust and dirt fill my nose and mouth, making me cough as I fight to lift my head. My entire body protests, bruised and battered from the fall, but I force myself to sit up. Shaking off the dizziness, I grab my phone from my pocket and flick on the flashlight.

The weak beam of light cuts through the pitch-black void around me, revealing walls of crumbling stone and an arched ceiling stretching high above. The space is wide and reeks of fungus. My light catches glimpses of debris—rusted tools, shattered glass, and what looks like old syringes littering the floor.

I stagger to my feet, wincing as pain shoots through my already wounded leg. I dust off my clothes with my cut hands. The tunnel stretches out before me, a long, dark corridor of stone that seems to go on forever.

I swipe the sweat from my brow, forcing myself to focus. This is no time to fuck about. I’ve made it this far. I can’t stop now. I’m getting into this fucking place. The air grows colder as I press on, wrapping around me like icy fingers. The tunnel begins to incline, the air thickening with dampness.

My light catches something ahead—markings carved into the stone walls. I stop, narrowing my eyes as I shine the beam closer. Scratch marks. Deep, jagged grooves etched into the stone. They could be human, but there’s no telling for sure. They’re desperate, frenzied, as if someone or something clawed at the walls, trying to escape.

My ears prick at the sound of faint squeaks echoing down the tunnel. Rats. I swing my light to the right, and the beam lands on something that makes my gut twist. Cells. Rows of them, their rusted bars warped and corroded with age, line the right-hand side of the tunnel.

I step closer and angle the flashlight through the bars. Heavy chains dangle from the walls, their iron links as thick as my wrist. I move further down, sweeping the light along the grim, ancient remnants of this place until I freeze completely.

My beam lands on skeletal remains, their bones scattered across the filthy floor, brittle and yellowed with time. Some are chained to the walls, others hang from the ceiling, their restraints frozen mid-swing, like a sick mockery of life.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck is this place?” I whisper.

I knew this place was ancient, but this? This is another level of twisted. I step back forcing myself to focus. Cells like these mean I must be close. Wherever the fuck they’ve taken her, it can’t be far from here.

And then I see it.

A door at the top of some steps.

The faint outline of iron glimmers at the far end of the tunnel, bathed in the weak glow of my light. I pick up my pace, my heart racing as I reach it. My hands hover over the cold, iron handle, hesitating for just a moment. This is it. I tighten my grip, take a deep breath, and yank it open.