The heavy thud against the door reverberated through the floor like cannon fire. They weren't knocking anymore—they were breaking in. Time had evaporated like morning dew under a merciless sun.
Driven by raw instinct, I lunged toward the tapestry—an ornate medieval hunting scene utterly incongruous among sleek chrome and glass. It hung slightly askew, recently disturbed. Hope, fragile as a butterfly's wing, flickered within me. Had Eleanor prepared her escape?
My fingers scrambled against the thick, woven fabric, surprisingly heavy and dusty. It smelled of age and... ozone? Like air after lightning, or the lingering signature of powerful magic. The wall behind felt smooth and unyielding, offering no obvious mechanism.
Panic surged, hot and suffocating as I searched frantically. Was I wrong? Just a decorative oddity?
Another deafening CRACK echoed from the door. Wood splintered. Authoritative shouts erupted, swallowed by the room's vastness.
My trembling fingers brushed something small and hard beneath the weave's bottom corner—not part of the wall but embedded behind the tapestry. A pressure plate?
I pressed hard, breath suspended between heartbeats.
For one eternal second, nothing happened. Then, with a barely audible hiss, a section of wall slid inward soundlessly, revealing a vertical slit of absolute darkness.
No time for hesitation. I threw myself through the gap as the main door burst inward with a splintering crash. "NYPD! Freeze!" Heavy footsteps thundered into the penthouse.
My shoulder scraped painfully against the frame as I tumbled through, hand fumbling backward for the trigger mechanism. Found it. Pressed. The panel slid shut with unnerving silence, plunging me into disorienting blackness.
Only the frantic drumming of blood in my ears and muffled chaos beyond the wall remained. I leaned against the cold surface, gasping for breath, tremors wracking this unfamiliar body. Safe. Temporarily.
This darkness was profound—a living entity pressing in from all sides. The air hung stale and heavy with ancient dust and damp stone, utterly unlike the penthouse's sterile, perfumed atmosphere. My eyes strained uselessly in the Stygian void.
My hands met rough-hewn stone on one side and smooth metal on the other. The passage was narrow, barely wider than my shoulders. A hidden corridor built into this modern skyscraper? It felt... ancient. Impossibly so.
I took a shaky step forward, trailing one hand along stone for guidance. The floor beneath my soaked shoes felt uneven and gritty. My borrowed body screamed in protest, adrenaline fading to bone-deep exhaustion. This flesh was soft, unaccustomed to violence or exertion. How had Eleanor even managed the ritual that brought me here?
Dizziness washed over me. Images flickered behind closed eyelids: Julian Blackwood's pale face, his family ring, the cryptic note. *"J is contained, for now... severance... resonance... the coast..."*
Contained—trapped by lingering spell effects? Severance from what? His family? His power? Me? And which coast? This city bordered an ocean, but the geography remained a terrifying blank in my mind.
A shiver traced down my spine, unrelated to the passage's chill. What forces had Eleanor meddled with? What price had she paid? What price would I now pay for inheriting this chaos?
My fingers discovered faint lines etched into stone, almost worn smooth by time. I traced them blindly. Not complex diagrams from her book, but something simpler, older. Familiar in a way that raised gooseflesh on my neck. Runes from my time? Or something belonging to this place's hidden history?
The passage sloped downward, air growing colder and damper. Sounds from above faded as I descended into the building's bowels—or perhaps beneath it entirely.
A fleeting memory surfaced from Eleanor's consciousness—not sight but a thrill of illicit excitement, forbidden discovery. She knew this place. Had she used it before? Secret escape route or something connected to her dangerous pursuits?
I extended that nascent energy sense that had flickered earlier. Could I feel anything down here? Any lingering power or presence?
At first, only oppressive silence answered. Then, like tuning into a frequency almost beyond hearing, I sensed... something. A subtle vibration beneath my feet? Not the chaotic energy upstairs, but something deeper, older, more... patient. It felt vast, slumbering, utterly indifferent to my existence.
The "resonance" from the note?
I pressed onward, driven by primal need to escape the chaos above. Each step demanded effort from this weakening body. How long could I continue? Where did this tunnel lead?
Then I heard it.
Faint, at hearing's edge—not police above or dripping water or scuttling vermin. A sound that didn't belong: soft, rhythmic scraping, like claws against stone. Or something heavy being dragged.
It came from further down the passage. Further into the darkness where I was heading.
My blood froze. Temporary relief vanished, replaced by primal fear. I stood motionless, every muscle tensed. The low hum intensified slightly, a silent warning vibrating through my feet.
I wasn't alone down here.
And whatever shared this ancient, hidden space with me... was likely far more dangerous than the police I'd just evaded. The abyss I stood upon had just revealed another, deeper layer.