Page 2 of When 're Silent

His gaze fell upon a piece of papercarelessly placed atop one of the crates near the center of the room. Thescrawl was unmistakable—Max Vilne’s taunting script. Finn’s hand trembled as hereached for the note, every muscle in his body coiled tight. The words were aknife, twisting deep.

“Always one step ahead, Wright.Isn’t this what you wanted? A game of wits?”

Finn crushed the note in his fist,the paper crumpling like the sound of breaking bones. His eyes burned, not withtears, but with an unquenchable fire of resolve. Max was playing with him,turning the hunt into a perverse form of entertainment.

And then Finn’s breath hitched.There, placed with deliberate care on a rickety wooden chair, was a shoe—adainty thing, incongruous in this place of decay. Demi’s shoe. The sight of it,so small and vulnerable, was a visceral blow to Finn’s gut.

The shoe was pristine, almostgleaming against the dust-covered floor, as if it were an exhibit rather than aforgotten item. It was a message, a statement from Vilne. He might as well havebeen standing there, smirking at Finn with that ice-cold gaze of his. Finn wassure he had had him this time, certain Max was there in that cellar.

Finn crouched beside the shoe, asurge of memories flooding through him—the shape of Demi's foot sliding intoit, the laughter they shared on evenings out when the world felt kinder. Now,it was a symbol of her peril, a beacon of urgency that propelled Finn forward.His hands clenched into fists, the note still wrinkled within his grasp.

“Damn you, Vilne,” he mutteredunder his breath. He stood up, setting his jaw. The chase wasn’t over; it wasmerely entering its next harrowing phase. Finn knew he couldn’t afford theluxury of grief or fear—not yet. There would be time for that later, after hesaved Demi, after he ended this once and for all.

He pocketed the solitary shoe, atangible piece of Demi to keep him anchored to the reality of his mission. Thecellar, with its stagnant air and oppressive silence, was just another riddlein Max Vilne’s twisted game, but Finn Wright was no stranger to puzzles. Withrenewed determination, he prepared to delve deeper into the labyrinth, knowingthat each step took him closer to the woman he’d failed once, but vowed neverto fail again.

Finn’s pulse thudded in his ears, arhythm that matched the ticking clock of Demi’s fate. He surveyed the dankcellar once more, the shadows seeming to mock him with their secrets. The scentof dust and old wood was thick, but underneath it all lingered the faintesttrace of Demi’s perfume, a whisper of jasmine that cut through the darknesslike a knife’s edge.

The sound of hurried footstepsbroke the silence, and Amelia Winters burst into the room, her chest rising andfalling rapidly from exertion. Her green eyes darted across the crates, takingin the scene with the precision of a hawk. She caught Finn’s gaze, herexpression a mix of frustration and concern.

“Where is she, Finn?” Amelia’svoice was sharp, every word edged with a shared urgency.

“I thought we were on his tail,”Finn replied, his voice low and tense. “Vilne was here. I’m certain of it.” Hishand went to his pocket, feeling the shape of Demi’s shoe through the fabric—ananchor in this storm of chaos.

Amelia moved closer, her eyes neverleaving his. “He’s playing with us, isn’t he? But how does he stay one stepahead?”

“Because he enjoys the game,” Finnsaid, bitterness lacing his words. “Max Vilne doesn’t just want to win; hewants to see us lose.”

“Then let’s disappoint him.” Ameliastepped back, her eyes scanning the room anew, searching for something theymight have missed. “We’ve got eyes on this place. Surveillance should havepicked up where he took her.”

“Should have,” Finn echoed, amuscle in his jaw twitching. “But Vilne knows our moves before we make them.He’s always been good at anticipation.”

“Let’s get upstairs. We can checkthe security feeds, see exactly where he exited the building with Demi.”Amelia’s voice was steady now, her initial rush of adrenaline giving way to thecalculated calm of an experienced investigator.

“Right,” Finn agreed, pushing pastthe hollow feeling in his stomach. He followed Amelia out of the oppressivecellar, each step heavy with the weight of responsibility. He couldn’t shakethe image of Demi’s shoe on the chair, a taunt designed to unravel him. MaxVilne wanted a reaction, but Finn would give him nothing. Instead, he would bethe relentless force that finally put an end to Vilne’s sadistic spree.

Finn’s gaze darted around thecellar. The shadows cast by the scant light seemed to mock his desperation. Theroom was a tableau of abandonment; old crates huddled against the walls likesilent sentinels of forgotten wares. A shiver of urgency ran through him as hiseyes caught an anomaly on the floor, a trail that disrupted the thick dust—atangible sign of struggle. Finn approached a particularly large crate, its woodbloated with age; it looked out of place somehow. His hands, driven by instincthoned from years in the field, reached out and he shoved the crate aside.

The sound of wood scraping againstconcrete reverberated through the quiet like a thunderclap, setting his nerveson edge. Beneath where the crate had stood was a hatch, metal edges eaten awayby rust, a relic hidden beneath layers of time. He could feel Amelia’s presencebehind him, her breaths measured but quick. “That looks like part of an oldservice tunnel network,” she observed, her voice low but carrying easily in theconfined space. “From the Victorian era, I’d wager. They run like veins beneathLondon.”

Finn didn’t respond, his focusnarrowing to the task at hand. Crouching, he felt along the hatch’s edge for agrip. His fingertips found purchase on a ring pull, iron cold and unyielding.With a grunt of exertion, he yanked upward. The hatch resisted, before yieldingwith a groan of neglected hinges, revealing a gaping maw that led into darknessbelow.

“Ready?” he asked, not waiting forconfirmation as he swung his legs into the void, feeling a rush of cooler airfrom the tunnel greet him. The descent was short, his boots connecting solidlywith the damp earth below. He extended a hand upwards, supporting Amelia as shefollowed suit, her lithe form descending gracefully into the cramped quartersof the tunnel.

They stood side by side in thepitch blackness, the clamor of the outside world muffled by layers of earth andstone. The darkness was total, oppressive, as if it sought to swallow themwhole. Finn could hear Amelia’s steady breathing, a comforting counterpoint tothe hammering of his own heart. His fingers brushed against the rough textureof the tunnel wall, tracing the damp bricks laid centuries ago, each one asilent witness to history—and now, to their urgent pursuit.

“Stay close,” he whispered, hisvoice barely above the sound of water trickling somewhere in the unseendistance. The need to find Demi, to ensure her safety, tightened his chest likea vice. Max Vilne had taken more than enough from him, from all those whocrossed the killer’s path. Finn vowed silently that this chase would enddifferently.

Finn’s hand hovered in the void,fumbling for a light switch that didn’t exist. He cursed under his breath, thepitch-black tunnel pressing against him with a weight that felt almostphysical. His sense of sight stripped away, every other sensation seemedamplified—the cool, musty air brushing against his skin, the distant drip ofwater echoing from the depths, the soft scuff of Amelia’s boots on the earthenfloor.

“Here,” Amelia’s voice cut throughthe darkness, a small click followed by a narrow beam of light piercing theshadows. The flashlight in her hand was a slender lifeline in the oppressivedark. Finn blinked against the sudden brightness, chastising himself inwardlyfor his lack of foresight.

“Left mine back in the car,” hemuttered, his words an admittance of uncharacteristic negligence.

“Thought you were a scout when youwere a kid? ‘Be prepared’, isn’t that what they say?” There was a hint ofteasing in Amelia’s tone, but her eyes remained fixed ahead, the lightrevealing the contours of the tunnel—a rib cage of arches and pipework overhead,like the skeletal remains of some ancient leviathan.

“We also learned never to liftpeople up, not kick them down,” Finn replied, a wry smile flickering across hisface before determination settled back onto his features like a familiar mask.He stepped forward, his eyes adjusting to rely on the slim beacon Ameliaprovided. Every fiber of his being was tuned to the task at hand—finding Demi,alive and unharmed, the hopeful refrain playing on loop in his mind.

The two investigators movedcautiously, the beam of the flashlight casting long, dancing shadows as itswept over the walls. They proceeded in a tense silence, their senses strainingfor any sign, any clue that might lead them to Demi. And then, there it was—aglint of moisture on the ground caught in the artificial light.

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