Suddenly the wall gives way to my left. “This way,” I hiss, turning the corner and continuing to use the wall as a guide. I know our only hope is to make enough turns that they’ll have to continuously split up to ensure they don’t miss us.

“Faster,” I whisper. I pick up the pace, moving rapidly along the wall. Roc is awesome, obeying my commands to perfection and moving noiselessly behind me.

“Switch sides,” I say, pushing off from the wall and wandering blindly until I find the wall on the opposite side.

I hear voices behind us. They aren’t cries from the chase anymore—more like a discussion. Deciding what to do at the side tunnel. Who will search it versus who will continue down the main tunnel. I ignore them and keep feeling for the next gap.

It comes soon, leading off diagonally to the right. “Bear right,” I say, moving into a new tunnel. If the men do what I expect them to do—continue cutting their numbers at each fork in the road—it will mean that six will follow us down the side tunnel, and now only three will pursue us into the angled tunnel tributary.

I move even faster, running now, praying it’s not a dead end. If you’ve never run at full speed in complete darkness, you should try it sometime. It’s exhilarating. Even if you know you’re in a place where there are no obstacles, nothing to smash into, it’s a real rush. In our case we have no idea what’s up ahead. At any moment we could fall into a deep pit, crashing onto jagged rock spikes at the bottom. Or we might plunge into the depths of an icy underwater river with a fierce current, sucking us deeper underground where we’ll drown.

Because of fate, or the blessings of a higher power, or just plain old dumb luck, none of those things happen. In fact, the best possible thing happens: we reach a small tunnel hub. The rock wall gives way to my right, but I can tell it isn’t a new tunnel because of the arc of the wall. Typically a tunnel hub links between four and eight other tunnels. I have no idea how many this hub will have, but it doesn’t really matter. As long as the guys behind us don’t guess right.

“Hub,” I say for Roc’s benefit. “Count with me. We’ll take the third side tunnel on the right.”

“Yes, sir,” Roc says, managing to mock me even in the worst situation.

I pass a gap in the hub wall. “One,” I say.

“One,” Roc parrots.

The next gap is almost immediately after the first. “Two.”

“Two.”

The third gap is a bit further, but only by a yard or two. “Three,” I say, cutting sharply to the right.

I barely hear Roc’s muffled, “Three,” as the floor drops away beneath me.

Chapter Fifteen

Adele

I wonder how much of attraction is based on looks. I’d never felt anything for Tristan before—not from seeing his pictures on billboards, at least. But now I feel pulled toward him. It’s everything: his looks, his smile, the way he carries himself, those eyes that look at me with an intensity, a yearning, as though without me he will surely perish. The way he said my name—Adele!—his tone filled with such longing.

I can’t hope that he survived the encounter with Rivet and his men. But I can’t stop thinking about him either, which is dangerous. I feel like I need to start detaching my mind from him or I’ll go crazy. Easier said than done.

Elsey is saying something beside me, but I’m not listening. Then I realize her head is cocked to the side and she is staring at me as we walk. She’s asked me a question.

“Wha…what?” I say. She gives me a look. “Sorry, I’m just a little…distracted.”

“Have you met Tristan before?” Elsey isn’t helping with my little detachment project.

“No,” I say.

“Then how’d he know your name?”

“From the news I s’pose.”

“Do you think he’s de—”

“No!” I exclaim, louder than I’d planned. My voice echoes dangerously through the caverns. Ahead of us, Cole and Tawni stop and look back—Cole glares at me while Tawni stands with her hands on her hips.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “No more talking for now, El.”

We walk for the next three hours in silence. We don’t take any side tunnels, afraid that we’ll get turned around and end up going in circles. The tunnel gradually gets thinner and the ceiling lower, until we are forced to march in single file, slightly stooped, Cole then Tawni then Elsey then me. It’s claustrophobic.

When my back begins to ache so badly from the awkward posture that I think I can’t go any further, I hear an elated cry ahead of me. I hasten my steps, realizing I’ve fallen quite far behind. A minute or so later, the tunnel emerges into a small alcove. By small I mean the four of us are barely able to fit. But that’s not what made someone—Tawni, I think—cry out.

I gasp at the wall of water before us. Our path is completely blocked by a waterfall, streaming so effortlessly from above that it appears as smooth as a mirror, the surface marred only by Tawni’s hand, which is stuck into the flow.

“It’s cold,” she announces, cupping her hand and taking a small sip. “And clean, too, I think.”

After our long day of marching, we don’t need further invitation. We line up along the waterfall, drinking until the water is dribbling down our chins, soaking our clothes. It feels wonderful. After we satisfy our thirst, we wash our arms and legs and faces, feeling refreshed for the first since escaping the Pen.

It is as good a place as any to stop, so we do, rationing the food in our packs, which are feeling lighter and lighter.

“What should we do?” Tawni asks. I dread backtracking, trying to find another tunnel to go down, more of the same rough rock walls and single file marching.

“I’m going to see what’s behind that waterfall,” I say, standing up.

“Be careful,” Tawni cautions, “it might drop into a pit.”

“Cole, hold me back,” I say.

Cole joins me at the waterfall and holds my left arm with two hands, lowering himself into a well-leveraged crouch.

I push my hand into the streaming water. It tickles my skin and splashes me in the face, so I turn my head to avoid getting water in my eyes. I force my arm further in, until the water is hitting my elbow, and then my shoulder. Still my hand hasn’t made it through.

“You got me?” I say.

“Yeah,” Cole grunts, straining a bit. “Not too much further though.”

With a deep breath, I duck my head into the icy stream, gasping slightly when the water hits me. All of my weight is being held by Cole now, as I lean over the edge of whatever abyss the falls empty in to.

And then I am through. Although the water is all around me, I can tell that my fingers aren’t being pelted anymore. Mission accomplished. I try to lean back, but gravity’s hold is too strong. In fact, I feel like I’m being pulled downwards. Behind me I can feel Cole’s fingers slipping off my arm as water pours down my head and shoulder.

I am going forward, not back, that much I know. If I let myself simply slip from Cole’s grasp, I will fall awkwardly, potentially hitting my head on a rock, and will most definitely end up taking a dive to wherever all the water is going. I have no other choice.

I wrench my arm free from Cole and leap.

The water pummels me from above as I fly through the air. It is like the liquid has suddenly grown arms and is grabbing at me, trying to pull me down. For all I know, there might be nothing behind the waterfall, just a big dark void, spiraling downward all the way to the earth’s molten core.

My foot lands on something hard and twists to the side. I let out a slight cry and tumble over, skinning an arm on the unforgiving tunnel floor. Complete darkness surrounds me. I don’t have a light. I lie on the ground for a moment, panting, my heart beating faster than a miner’s in a rock cart race. I can hear water rushing all around me. Not just behind, but in front, too. At first I think it’s just the echo of the waterfall I jumped through, but when I crawl forward a few feet, I find that another waterfall blocks my way.