CHAPTER TWENTY

The wind cut through the empty streets, carrying a chill that seemed to whisper of secrets hidden deep beneath the city. Finn and Amelia moved with purpose, their breaths visible in the cold night air as they navigated the labyrinth of London"s back alleys.

"Over here," Finn said, his keen eyes spotting the outline of a manhole cover partially obscured by refuse and years of neglect. He bent down, muscles tensing as he gripped the iron ring. With a grunt, it gave way, revealing a dark descent into the forgotten bowels of the city. His stitched forearm ached as it did so.

"Charming," Amelia quipped, shining her flashlight into the abyss. "After you, consultant detective."

Finn didn"t miss the irony in her tone. He was often the one to take the lead, his peculiar insight into the minds of criminals giving them an edge. But this time, there was a hint of trepidation threading through his usual bravado. The idea of the killer, possibly even Chronos as a suspect, having predicted their movements, sent an uneasy shiver down his spine.

Without another word, Finn lowered himself into the hole, the sound of dripping water echoing up from below. Amelia followed, their descent into the darkness as silent as the grave.

The climb down was arduous, the rungs slick with grime and rust. When they finally reached the bottom, Finn took a moment to scan the area with his torch. They stood on the old platform of Islewood Station, a relic of Victorian engineering now nothing more than a haunt for rats and echoes.

"Which way?" Amelia asked, her voice steady but low, mindful of the oppressive silence that enveloped them.

"Tracks should be this way," Finn replied, nodding toward a tunnel mouth that yawned like an open wound in the earth. They trudged along the disused line, the beams from their torches catching on the occasional glint of metal or the scurry of vermin.

As they progressed, the unmistakable shapes of derelict carriages emerged from the darkness, lined up like slumbering beasts. Finn stepped into one of the carriages, the stale air smelling of decay and abandonment. His steps were cautious, alert to any sign of movement or danger.

"Looks like we"re not the only visitors," Amelia observed, pointing to a set of fresh footprints in the dust. They exchanged a look, both understanding the ramifications. Chronos had been here before them.

"Keep your wits about you," Finn murmured, though he knew the advice was as much for himself as for Amelia. He brushed aside cobwebs as he ventured deeper into the row of ancient carriages, each one a potential hiding place for the enigmatic killer they hunted.

"They'll be writing about us in the papers again, Amelia," Finn said softly, his voice betraying none of the adrenaline that coursed through him. "Let"s just hope it"s not our obituary."

Amelia snorted, a brief spark of humor amidst the tension. "Always the optimist."

Finn"s torchlight danced over a graffiti-tagged carriage, casting monstrous shadows on the peeling paint of its walls. The metallic scent of old rain and rust battled against the dankness of the underground as he stepped over shards of broken glass, his eyes narrowing at an anomaly amidst the decay.

"Amelia," he called over his shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. "Over here."

A semicircle of laptops lay open like clam shells, their screens dark, their innards exposed and gutted. Finn"s fingers hovered over the keyboards, not touching, reading the story of hasty deletion in the residue of dust that wasn"t disturbed. He exchanged a glance with Amelia, her silhouette framed by the dim light filtering from the tunnel behind them.

"Chronos knew we"d come," he stated flatly, the realization sinking in. "It"s all been cleaned out."

"Too clean," she agreed, stepping closer to inspect the scene. "He"s been watching us."

Their search for clues was cut short by an eerie creaking sound that sent shivers down Finn"s spine. And then, like a phantom emerging from the bowels of history itself, a figure cloaked in darkness appeared, its face obscured by a Victorian mask, grotesque with exaggerated features—a macabre nod to a bygone era.

"Show yourself!" Finn demanded, instinctively positioning himself between Amelia and the intruder.

The figure didn"t respond. It turned and disappeared into another carriage. Finn gave chase, Amelia at his back. But as they flew through the next carriage, Finn saw it at the last moment—explosives.

"Amelia!" Finn screamed. He grabbed her and hurled both of them into the next carriage as the explosives detonated.

Debris and smoke plumed, and Amelia lay on top of Finn on the floor.

"That was close," Amelia said,gasping. "He set a trap."

"You can thank me later," Finn quipped, getting to his feet and helping Amelia up.

"I just need to sit for a moment," Amelia said, catching her breath, holding her side.

"Are you okay?" Finn asked, concerned.

"Fine, I just landed on the floor and..."

But there was no time to finish the conversation. The shadowy masked figure thrust towards them through the smoke. It lunged forward, silent as the grave, arms outstretched. Finn met the attack head-on, grappling with the assailant in the narrow confines of the carriage. Each punch thrown was a burst of pent-up frustration, each dodge a dance with death. The killer was strong, but Finn matched him move for move, fueled by the desperation to end this nightmare.

"Careful, Finn!" Amelia called out, her voice edged with concern as she searched for an opening to help.

But there was no room for two in this deadly tango. A sharp jolt of pain shot through Finn"s rib cage as he took a hit, the impact echoing through the metal carcass of the train. He stumbled back, catching a glimpse of amusement flickering behind the mask"s hollow eyes.

"Got your breath?" the killer taunted, voice muffled by the ornate facade. He drew back his cloak and reached for something lying on top of an old chair. It was a large blade.

Finn glared at it.

"I"ve got more than that," Finn spat back, regaining his footing. He feinted left before driving his fist towards the masked face, connecting with a satisfying crunch.

The killer staggered, momentarily off balance, but recovered with unnerving speed. The fight continued, a blur of motion within the derelict carriage, each strike a potential endgame, each block a stolen second of life.

"Chronos," Finn growled, the name bitter on his tongue. "This ends now. Where's Vilne!?"

Amelia lurched forward to help, but Chronos threw a kick, knocking her to the ground in a daze.

Despite the intensity of the battle, Finn"s mind raced, piecing together the puzzle even as he fought for survival. The wiped laptops, the elaborate costume—it all pointed to a grand plan, one that Finn was determined to unravel.

The clatter of the fight echoed off the brick-lined tunnel as Finn, his breath coming in fiery gasps, scrambled up the side of a rust-eaten carriage. His hands grasped the cold metal edge of the roof, pulling his body upwards with a force born of desperation. The killer was relentless—a specter draped in the eerie stillness of the abandoned station, the Victorian face mask making them appear an apparition out of time.

"Amelia!" Finn shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the cavernous darkness. He threw himself onto the roof, the surface buckling under his weight. A silhouette against the dim light, the killer bounded after him, footsteps thundering like the trains that once roared through this desolate artery of the city.

Finn"s heart raced, pounding a rhythm with the urgency of a Morse code distress signal. He rolled, dodging a vicious swipe. The killer's blade glinted—a whisper of silver in the gloom—and then pain exploded in Finn"s shoulder, hot and sharp. The impact pitched him forward, his hand instinctively pressing against the wound, feeling the warm wetness of blood.

Finn reached out and smashed the killer in the throat with his fist. The killer reeled and looked around as if frightened by the fact that Finn would never stop.

"I might need your costume for next Halloween," Finn gritted his teeth, pushing through the haze of pain. No time for weakness—not when every second could mean another opportunity for the killer to murder.

With a feral grace, the killer seemed suddenly gripped by fear. He leaped from carriage to carriage, the old train cars groaning beneath their weight. Finn fought to keep pace, his vision blurring at the edges. He was losing ground, the killer always one step ahead, a twisted dance atop this graveyard of steel and glass.

"Chronos!" he called out, the name a challenge thrown into the void. But there was no answer, only the echo of his own voice and the relentless pursuit.

Just as the killer vaulted towards the last carriage, aiming for the gravel-strewn ground beyond, Finn lunged. His fingers caught the hem of Chronos" coat, gripping it with a desperation that surprised even himself. The fabric strained, the sound of tearing threads barely audible over the clamor of their struggle.

"Gotcha," Finn muttered, a surge of triumph rising within him. He yanked back, the killer"s leg buckling, their balance compromised. For a moment, they teetered on the precipice—the brink between flight and fall.

"Give it up," he snarled, his own pain fueling his resolve. "End this madness!"

But Chronos was silent save for the heavy, measured breaths behind the mask, as if each exhale were an insult, a taunt, a defiance that Finn had yet to dissolve.

Finn"s breath came in ragged gasps as he threw himself forward, his body crashing atop the masked figure. They hit the carriage roof with a thud that echoed through the hollow space below. With no time to waste, Finn"s fingers scrabbled at the Victorian face mask, an anachronism that had haunted their investigation. The elastic gave way, and he pulled it off, revealing Chronos" identity.

Shock registered even through Finn"s adrenaline-fueled haze. Staring back at him was not the face of some hardened criminal mastermind but that of a young man, seemingly no older than twenty-five. His features were sharp, almost delicate, with an air of arrogance etched into the lines of his face—a stark contrast to the brutality he had dealt. A cold smile curved his lips, as if amused by Finn"s surprise.

"Too late, detective," Chronos taunted, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm. "The world will burn, and there"s nothing you can do to stop it."

"Is The Tempus Machine just a virus then? Some cyber weapon?" Finn demanded, struggling to keep the killer pinned despite the stabbing pain in his shoulder.

Chronos laughed, the sound chillingly devoid of humor. "Using technology, Finn," he mocked. "To destroy technology."

Something in the man's eyes frightened Finn. It was that somewhere buried deep in the madness, Chronos believed in his words. He believed the world was about to come crashing down.

"Whatever you"re planning," Finn said through gritted teeth, "it"s over."

Chronos merely smiled wider, his gaze locked onto Finn"s. "But detective, it"s out of my hands. When I saw you coming, I passed all I have along to a mutual friend of ours."

Amelia"s footsteps echoed as she caught up with Finn, who stood panting, his hand clutching his wounded shoulder, eyes locked on the young man beneath him. Chronos lay pinned, defiance still blazing in his eyes despite his captured state.

"Talk," Amelia demanded, her voice a blade of ice cutting through the tension. "The difference engine, the machine parts—what was it all for?"

Chronos" lips curled into a smirk that didn"t quite reach his eyes. "You think this is all about old pieces of technology? Inspector Winters. Merely breadcrumbs to lead you astray." His gaze flicked to Finn. "You see, I couldn"t allow Emily Stanton and Lucas Henshaw to get too close to The Tempus Machine. They were starting to understand what it actually was."

"Max Vilne," Finn interjected sharply, "was he the one behind the other murders? What was his role in all this?"

"Ah, Vilne," Chronos sighed, almost nostalgically. "He had something I needed—a piece of code from the black market. A vital component to complete The Tempus Machine." He shifted slightly under Finn"s weight. "I did what I had to for that code. All he wanted was for me to lead you a merry dance"

"And innocent people died for that!?" Finn's voice growled.

Amelia exchanged a glance with Finn, both understanding the gravity of the revelation. It wasn"t just about ancient technology; this was bigger, darker.

"Chronos, is the virus real?" Amelia asked.

"We'll know soon enough," Chronos said.

"Was it Rajiv Choudhary who helped create it?" Finn asked.

"In part," answered Chronos.

"We can't risk any of this being real. Vilne has the completed code now," Finn said, urgency lacing his tone as he pushed off Chronos to stand, wincing at the movement. "We need to find him before he acts on whatever plan you"ve set in motion. Where is he!?"

"Find him?" Chronos chuckled, shaking his head. "I"ve been nothing but a servant to his whims, detective. Where he is now, what he plans to do next—I"m as much in the dark as you are. I've played my part, and if he keeps his side of the bargain, the modern world will be brought to its knees."

Finn clenched his jaw, frustration boiling beneath his skin. Time was slipping away, and with Vilne out there, a shadow with the power to ignite chaos, they were racing against an unseen clock.