Page 43 of When You're Gone

Amelia's fingers flew across thescreen of her phone, the blue light illuminating her determined face as shescrolled through pages of historical data. The room was silent except for theoccasional tap and swipe, echoing off the stark walls of Clara Redwood'snow-empty apartment.

"Got something," Ameliaannounced without looking up. "Islewood Junction was part of an oldunderground rail network. Delivered post all over London. Shut down fordecades, though. Wait… It probably ran near to the old post office where Henrywas murdered, maybe even to where we found Rajiv’s body!"

"Abandoned tunnels,again?" Finn remarked dryly, his mind already envisioning the cobwebbedshadows of forgotten passages. He had a nagging feeling that this case woulduncover more than just dusty artifacts.

"Seems like we're destined tohaunt the underbelly of the city," he added, offering a lopsided grin inAmelia's direction as they headed toward the door, urgency propelling theirsteps.

"Urban explorers ordetectives, Finn?" Amelia quipped, pocketing her phone with a practicedease. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, met his for a moment, sharing the thrillthat came with the chase.

"Sometimes I wonder if there'smuch of a difference," Finn replied, pushing open the door and steppinginto the cool night air. Shadows clung to the buildings, but their mission wasclear: a beacon cutting through the uncertainty of darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The wind cut through the emptystreets, carrying a chill that seemed to whisper of secrets hidden deep beneaththe city. Finn and Amelia moved with purpose, their breaths visible in the coldnight 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 byrefuse and years of neglect. He bent down, muscles tensing as he gripped theiron ring. With a grunt, it gave way, revealing a dark descent into theforgotten bowels of the city. His stitched forearm ached as it did so.

"Charming," Ameliaquipped, shining her flashlight into the abyss. "After you, consultantdetective."

Finn didn't miss the irony in hertone. He was often the one to take the lead, his peculiar insight into theminds of criminals giving them an edge. But this time, there was a hint oftrepidation threading through his usual bravado. The idea of the killer, possiblyeven Chronos as a suspect, having predicted their movements, sent an uneasyshiver down his spine.

Without another word, Finn loweredhimself 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, therungs slick with grime and rust. When they finally reached the bottom, Finntook a moment to scan the area with his torch. They stood on the old platformof Islewood Station, a relic of Victorian engineering now nothing more than ahaunt for rats and echoes.

"Which way?" Ameliaasked, her voice steady but low, mindful of the oppressive silence thatenveloped them.

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

As they progressed, theunmistakable shapes of derelict carriages emerged from the darkness, lined uplike slumbering beasts. Finn stepped into one of the carriages, the stale airsmelling of decay and abandonment. His steps were cautious, alert to any signof movement or danger.

"Looks like we're not the onlyvisitors," Amelia observed, pointing to a set of fresh footprints in thedust. They exchanged a look, both understanding the ramifications. Chronos hadbeen here before them.

"Keep your wits aboutyou," Finn murmured, though he knew the advice was as much for himself asfor Amelia. He brushed aside cobwebs as he ventured deeper into the row ofancient carriages, each one a potential hiding place for the enigmatic killerthey hunted.

"They’ll be writing about usin the papers again, Amelia," Finn said softly, his voice betraying noneof the adrenaline that coursed through him. "Let's just hope it's not ourobituary."

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

Finn's torchlight danced over agraffiti-tagged carriage, casting monstrous shadows on the peeling paint of itswalls. The metallic scent of old rain and rust battled against the dankness ofthe underground as he stepped over shards of broken glass, his eyes narrowingat an anomaly amidst the decay.

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

A semicircle of laptops lay openlike clam shells, their screens dark, their innards exposed and gutted. Finn'sfingers hovered over the keyboards, not touching, reading the story of hastydeletion in the residue of dust that wasn't disturbed. He exchanged a glancewith Amelia, her silhouette framed by the dim light filtering from the tunnelbehind them.

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

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

Their search for clues was cutshort 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 indarkness appeared, its face obscured by a Victorian mask, grotesque withexaggerated features—a macabre nod to a bygone era.

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

The figure didn't respond. Itturned and disappeared into another carriage. Finn gave chase, Amelia at hisback. But as they flew through the next carriage, Finn saw it at the lastmoment—explosives.

“Amelia!” Finn screamed. He grabbedher and hurled both of them into the next carriage as the explosives detonated.

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

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