STOMP STOMP STOMP
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the narrow stone passage, bouncing between the walls before being swallowed by the next. The smaller hooded figure ran several paces ahead, his cloak snapping behind him as he rounded a bend without slowing. Seventeen followed with considerably less grace, his shoes striking the uneven orange brown stone in hurried, irregular steps.
His lungs were already burning. The injuries he had managed to ignore while sitting at the table protested with every impact, and the sudden exertion sent a deep ache spreading through his thighs and ribs. Sweat clung to his forehead despite the cold air, slipping into his eyes whenever he lowered his head to run.
Don't lose him.
The stranger disappeared around another corner. Seventeen pushed himself harder, reaching the turn a moment later and scraping his shoulder against the rough wall as he tried to follow without losing speed. Pain shot through his upper body, but he caught himself with one hand and continued.
Behind him, the noise of the dining chamber had faded. There were no more shouting customers or clattering bowls, only the rapid impacts of their shoes and the ragged sound of his own breathing.
Then voices began to rise somewhere ahead.
At first, Seventeen could barely distinguish them from the echoes in the passage. But as he ran, the murmur grew louder, joined by the clink of metal and the scrape of merchandise being moved across stone. The stranger emerged from the tunnel into another crowded section of the bazaar, and Seventeen followed moments later.
The sudden noise struck him all at once. Hooded customers moved between stalls beneath dim lanterns, stepping around blankets covered with rusted weapons, cheap ornaments, and small bottles of unfamiliar liquids. Merchants called to passing buyers, their voices overlapping in the narrow walkway.
The stranger slipped between two customers and darted around a man carrying a wooden crate. His small stature allowed him to pass through openings that barely seemed wide enough for a person, and within seconds he had vanished behind a cluster of taller figures.
Seventeen pushed after him.
"Move!"
His shoulder struck someone's arm as he squeezed past.
"Watch it!"
He barely heard the complaint. His eyes searched the gaps between cloaks until he caught another glimpse of the stranger several paces ahead, already turning around the next stall.
Seventeen tried to follow the same route, but the crowd closed around him before he could reach it. He stumbled over the corner of a blanket spread across the floor and nearly kicked a row of glass bottles into the walkway. The merchant lunged to protect his wares, shouting something as Seventeen twisted past.
The stranger veered left.
Seventeen followed, brushing against a passing customer's back and catching his foot on the leg of a low stool. He stumbled forward, barely managing to stay upright, then looked up.
The stranger was gone.
He slowed abruptly, turning his head from side to side. Brown cloaks, gray hoods, covered faces. Nearly everyone looked alike beneath the poor lighting, and the shoulders of the taller customers blocked his view whenever he tried to look farther down the passage.
Where'd he go?
Seventeen rose onto his toes, ignoring the pain that shot through his calves. He caught sight of a short figure near a stall, only to realize it was someone standing on a lower section of floor.
Then a hurried scrape of shoes sounded to his right.
He turned just in time to see a small hooded figure slip through an opening between two stalls.
Seventeen ran after him, his foot catching against the edge of another blanket. He pitched forward, caught himself against a wooden post, and shoved away before the merchant beside it could grab his cloak.
The figure was farther ahead now.
Seventeen forced himself onward. The lanterns and merchandise passed in blurred patches of orange and brown, while the noise of the market rose and fell around him. He no longer noticed what anyone was selling. He watched only for the movement of the smaller cloak ahead.
Then the stranger looked back.
It was quick, little more than a turn of the hood over one shoulder. But the motion distracted him long enough for his foot to strike a raised stone. He stumbled, caught his balance with an outstretched arm, and immediately accelerated.
Seventeen's stomach tightened.
He knows I'm following him.
For an instant, he thought he had gained ground. The stranger's stumble had brought him closer, and Seventeen pushed through the opening between two passing customers to take advantage of it. But the figure recovered quickly, ducking around another corner before Seventeen could reach him.
He followed too sharply. His shoulder slammed against the wall, and the impact sent a sharp pain through his chest. He stumbled sideways, pressed a hand against the stone, and pushed off again.
The stranger kept running.
Seventeen's breathing grew harsher. Each inhale seemed to scrape the inside of his throat, and his legs had begun to feel strangely heavy, as though the stone floor were pulling at his feet. He wiped sweat from his eyes with his sleeve, only to nearly lose his balance when his foot struck a loose piece of rubble.
He managed to stay upright, but the effort cost him several steps.
Shit.
The bazaar began to thin around them. The stalls stood farther apart, and the last merchants watched them pass without trying to intervene. Soon the blankets and crates disappeared entirely, replaced by rough stone walls and stretches of floor scattered with gravel.
The stranger turned into another corridor. Seventeen followed, listening to the lighter footsteps ahead whenever the figure disappeared beyond a bend. The passages seemed to branch without warning, sometimes narrowing until his cloak brushed against the walls, sometimes opening just wide enough to reveal another turn farther ahead.
At one intersection, he arrived a moment too late.
Both passages were empty.
He stopped, bent forward, and listened. His own breathing filled his ears, making it difficult to hear anything else. He held still for a heartbeat, then caught the faint sound of a shoe scraping stone somewhere to the right.
Seventeen turned and ran.
The stranger appeared beneath a distant lantern, already approaching another bend. Seventeen forced his aching legs to move faster, but the gap between them refused to close. Every time he managed to gain a little distance, another turn or patch of uneven floor slowed him again.
His foot landed awkwardly against a loose stone. His ankle twisted, and he staggered into the wall with a pained gasp. For several seconds, he remained hunched over, one hand pressed to the stone while he struggled to draw enough air into his lungs.
The footsteps ahead grew quieter.
Just a little farther.
He pushed away from the wall. The first step sent pain up his leg, and the second nearly brought him to his knees, but he forced himself forward until the uneven rhythm of his shoes began echoing through the passage again.
The stranger was still there. Seventeen caught another glimpse of his cloak vanishing around a corner, and the sight kept him moving long after his body had begun begging him to stop.
Then an uncomfortable question surfaced.
What am I going to do if I catch him?
Seventeen stared at the figure ahead. He had no weapon, could barely keep his balance, and had already spent whatever strength remained in his legs. He hadn't thought about what he would say to the stranger, much less what he would do if the stranger refused to listen.
He pushed the question aside. If the stranger really intended to report Morgan, letting him disappear would be worse. He could worry about the rest when he reached him.
The next corridor narrowed sharply, its walls rough and cracked. Lanterns were scarce here, leaving long stretches of darkness between the small pools of light. Seventeen rounded another bend and nearly stumbled when he realized the stranger was closer than before.
The figure was slowing.
At first Seventeen thought the poor lighting was deceiving him, but the distance between them continued to shrink. The stranger's steps had become shorter, and he no longer rounded the corners with the same easy speed.
Seventeen drew in another painful breath and pushed forward.
For the first time since leaving the dining chamber, he was gaining ground.
But as the gap closed, he became aware of something else. There were no merchants nearby, no voices, and no sounds from the bazaar except a distant murmur that barely reached them through the tunnels. Broken stone littered the floor, and the walls were marked by old cracks that disappeared into the darkness overhead.
They were alone.
Seventeen slowed just enough to look around.
Where are we?
The stranger stopped.
Seventeen nearly ran straight into him. He caught himself a few paces away, chest heaving, and stared as the smaller figure turned to face him.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then a faint light appeared beneath the stranger's cloak.
It began around his hands, a subtle shimmer of blue and green that gradually spread across his palms. Thin strands of light curled around his fingers, illuminating the cloth covering his wrists before extending farther up his arms.
The glow strengthened.
Seventeen stared.
Mana?
His eyes shifted toward the empty passage behind the figure.
Why now?
The question came almost immediately.
Why didn't he use it before?
He remembered the bazaar, the crowded stalls, the merchants arguing, and the people who had fallen over one another in the dining chamber. Not once had he seen anyone use mana. Not when people were fighting, not when they were falling, and not even when the disturbance had spread through the crowd.
The stranger's hands brightened.
A faint vibration traveled through the stone beneath Seventeen's feet.
He looked down.
The sensation was subtle, almost too weak to distinguish from the trembling in his own legs. But it was there, a low humming that seemed to come from somewhere beneath the passage itself.
Farther down the wall, an old marking briefly caught the blue-green light. It was little more than a shallow symbol carved into the stone, so worn that Seventeen couldn't make out its shape.
He looked back toward the stranger.
What is that?
He didn't have time to think any further.
The figure lunged.
Seventeen threw himself sideways, his exhausted legs barely responding. For an instant he thought he had avoided the stranger, but a hand closed around his ankle, stopping him so abruptly that his upper body pitched forward while his leg remained trapped.
"AH!"
He reached for the wall, but the stranger pulled before he could catch himself. His feet left the ground, and his body swung sideways.
BANG!
He struck the stone hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Pain exploded across his back and chest, and his head snapped against the wall before he slid down into the rubble. He opened his mouth, desperate for a breath that wouldn't come. When his chest finally convulsed, warm blood splattered onto the floor beneath him.
He coughed again, feeling something rise through his throat. The wounds that had barely begun healing seemed to tear open beneath his clothes, and every attempt to breathe sent another sharp pain through his ribs.
The stranger approached, blue green light curling around his hands.
Move.
Seventeen planted a palm against the floor and tried to rise. His arm shook, and his injured leg threatened to fold beneath him, but he managed to lift himself just enough to throw a fist at the stranger's face.
SMACK!
Pain shot through his knuckles. It felt like punching a stone wall. The stranger's head shifted slightly, but the blow hardly seemed to affect him.
What?
Before Seventeen could pull away, the stranger seized his wrist and yanked him forward. A glowing fist drove into his stomach, folding him in half. Blood and saliva spilled from his mouth as his legs buckled, and the stranger released him only to reach down again.
Seventeen caught the approaching arm with both hands. He dug his fingers into the stranger's sleeve and pushed with everything he had, but the fist kept coming, inch by inch, until its glow was close enough to illuminate his face.
He twisted sideways and pulled, trying to drag the stranger off balance. The stranger simply moved one foot and steadied himself.
Seventeen grabbed a fistful of cloak near the stranger's waist and yanked downward.
This time, the movement caught him by surprise. The stranger pitched forward, and Seventeen threw his shoulder into his stomach, hauling on the cloth as they stumbled together across the loose stones. For one brief instant, the stranger's heel slipped.
There!
Seventeen pulled harder.
A knee drove upward beneath his ribs.
"GAAH!"
His grip loosened. The stranger seized the front of his cloak and flung him backward. Seventeen hit the ground, slid across the rough stone, and stopped against the opposite wall. He rolled onto his side, coughing, but the stranger was already coming toward him.
Seventeen crawled away on his elbows. His legs dragged uselessly behind him, and he had barely moved a few feet when the back of his cloak tightened around his throat.
The stranger hauled him backward.
"LET GO!"
Seventeen clawed at the hand gripping him, scraping his nails across the stranger's fingers while the collar dug into his neck. He kicked wildly and felt his heel strike a shin. The grip loosened just enough for him to twist around and kick the same leg again.
The stranger grunted.
Seventeen lunged toward him instead of away, grabbed his sleeve, and pulled himself close. A glowing hand caught his shoulder and began to lift him. He hit the arm with his free fist, once and then again, but it wouldn't let go.
Panic took over.
Seventeen dragged the stranger's forearm toward his mouth and bit down through the cloth.
His jaw tightened until it hurt. He tasted dirt, sweat, then something metallic. The stranger jerked and cried out, trying to tear his arm free, but Seventeen clung to the sleeve with both hands and bit harder.
A fist struck his shoulder. Another blow caught the side of his head, blurring his vision, but he refused to release his grip. The stranger suddenly drove his arm downward, dragging Seventeen's head toward the wall. Seventeen let go just before his face struck it.
THUD!
His forehead still collided with the stone. He staggered backward, blinking through the pain as warm blood trickled toward his eyebrow.
The stranger held his injured arm close. The fabric around his forearm was torn and dark, and for the first time Seventeen could hear his breathing clearly.
But he was still standing.
Seventeen could barely remain upright.
The stranger caught his wrist again and twisted. Seventeen screamed, tried to wrench free, then swung his other hand toward the stranger's face. That wrist was caught too.
Both arms were trapped.
Seventeen backed away until his heel struck the wall. The stranger stepped closer, his hands glowing brighter around Seventeen's wrists.
There was nowhere else to go.
Shit.
Seventeen threw his head forward.
THOCK!
Their foreheads collided. Pain burst through his skull, but the stranger staggered and his grip slackened. Seventeen ripped one arm free, drove an awkward elbow toward the stranger's face, and grabbed his cloak again. He yanked down and kicked at his knee, hoping to bring him to the floor.
The leg buckled slightly.
Then a glowing fist struck Seventeen's chest.
CRASH!
He flew backward into the wall and collapsed among the rubble. For several seconds, he couldn't move. His chest convulsed with each attempt to breathe, his hands shook beneath him, and his legs felt so weak he couldn't imagine standing again.
The stranger approached.
Seventeen dragged himself backward on one elbow. A glowing fist struck the floor beside his head.
CRACK!
Stone fragments scattered across his cheek. He curled inward and raised both arms, but the next blow slammed into his forearm with enough force to drive it against his chest. Another followed, then another, each impact seeming to pass straight through his attempts to block.
He kicked at the stranger's legs, caught only air, and tried to crawl beneath the approaching arm. A hand seized his cloak and dragged him back into reach. He scratched at the fingers, twisted, and struck blindly with the side of his fist, but none of it stopped the next blow.
NOT AGAIN.
His cheek scraped against the rubble as another strike knocked him sideways. His arms were slowing, and darkness crept around the edges of his vision. He tried to raise his hands once more, but they barely obeyed him.
Then he noticed something lying beside his knee.
A broken piece of brick, small enough to fit in one hand, with a jagged edge where it had fractured from a larger block.
The stranger stepped closer and lifted a glowing fist.
Seventeen raised his left arm to shield his face. When the stranger knocked it aside, he let the force carry his hand down toward the rubble. His fingers closed around the brick, and he kept it pressed low against the floor.
He threw his right fist upward, a weak punch that barely had enough strength to reach the stranger's face.
The stranger turned toward it.
Seventeen twisted his shoulder and swung the brick with everything he had left.
THWACK!
The stranger stumbled for the first time. His body lurched forward, one hand reaching toward the wall as blood began to darken the edge of his hood.
Seventeen stared.
It worked.
He screamed and threw himself forward, raising the brick for another strike, but the stranger recovered faster than he expected.
A hand shot upward and caught Seventeen's wrist.
The sudden resistance stopped his arm before the brick could connect, and Seventeen felt his fingers begin to loosen as the stranger forced his hand backward.
Pain shot through his wrist.
He tried to pull away, but the grip only tightened, and when the stranger twisted his arm, Seventeen cried out as the bones beneath his skin seemed to grind against one another.
The stranger stepped forward, driving his shoulder into Seventeen's chest and sending him stumbling backward. His heel caught against a loose stone, and he fell hard onto the rubble, barely managing to keep hold of the brick as it struck the ground beside him.
The stranger was already approaching.
Seventeen scrambled backward just as a glowing fist crashed into the stone where his head had been a moment earlier.
BOOM!
Fragments scattered across the passage, several striking his cheek as he twisted away from the impact.
He stared at the indentation left behind.
That would've...
He didn't finish the thought.
The stranger reached for him again, but Seventeen kicked upward, striking the stranger's knee and interrupting his advance long enough to twist sideways. He pushed himself toward the wall, his fingers scraping against the rough stone as he struggled to stand.
Another glowing fist came toward him.
Seventeen ducked.
The strike crashed into the wall beside his head, sending another shower of fragments across his shoulders.
He could feel the stranger's arm passing above him, and before it could be withdrawn, Seventeen threw himself forward, driving his shoulder against the stranger's body.
The impact forced the stranger backward.
Seventeen followed, using the last of his momentum to drive him against the opposite wall.
THUD!
The stranger grunted, his glowing hands rising between them.
Seventeen raised the brick.
The stranger caught his wrist again.
Their bodies pressed against the wall as they struggled, both breathing heavily now, their shoes scraping against loose stone while Seventeen desperately tried to force his arm forward.
But the stranger was stronger.
His wrist began bending backward, and the brick trembled between his fingers as the stranger's other hand slowly rose toward his face.
Seventeen could see the blue green light gathering around it.
He pushed harder.
His muscles trembled.
The hand continued approaching.
I'm going to die.
The thought came with terrifying certainty.
He couldn't overpower him, couldn't escape, and if that glowing fist struck him again, he wasn't sure his body would be able to withstand it.
Seventeen suddenly stopped resisting the pressure against his wrist.
The stranger's arm moved forward with the unexpected lack of resistance, and Seventeen twisted beneath it, scraping his shoulder against the wall as he slipped just far enough to free his hand.
Then he swung.
The brick struck the side of the stranger's head.
CRUNCH!
The stranger staggered, his grip loosening as he attempted to regain his balance.
Seventeen didn't give him the chance.
He swung again, catching him across the shoulder before driving another strike toward the opposite side of his head. The stranger raised an arm to protect himself, but Seventeen stepped forward, forcing him farther along the wall as he continued striking.
The stranger attempted to retreat.
His foot caught against a loose piece of stone.
His balance shifted.
Seventeen saw the opening and threw everything he had left into another swing.
The brick connected.
The stranger fell.
Seventeen followed him to the ground, his knees striking the rubble hard enough to send another jolt of pain through his legs. He barely noticed as he climbed over the stranger, raising the brick once more before bringing it down against the arm the stranger had lifted to protect his head.
The stranger twisted beneath him, attempting to push him away, but Seventeen struck again, this time catching him across the shoulder. The stranger's other hand reached toward his wrist, briefly managing to grab it before Seventeen pulled free and brought the brick down once more.
His breathing had become little more than a series of broken gasps. Each time he lifted the brick, his arm seemed heavier than before, and the strength required to bring it down felt almost impossible to gather.
Still, he continued.
The stranger's movements became increasingly desperate, his arms rising to protect his face while his legs scraped against the ground in an attempt to push himself away.
Seventeen leaned forward, using his weight to keep him pinned.
Another strike landed.
The stranger's hood slipped backward.
And for the first time, Seventeen saw his face.
He was young.
A pale face framed by messy green hair stared back at him, its features drawn and exhausted beneath the dim light of the tunnel. His cheeks were slightly sunken, and dark shadows beneath his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept properly in days. His lips were cracked and dry, with small patches of blood gathering where he had bitten through the skin.
His eyes were green.
Not the brilliant green of the mana that had surrounded his hands, but a duller shade, made hazy by pain and exhaustion.
Blood ran down the left side of his face, staining his hair and dripping toward his ear.
He looked up at Seventeen.
There was fear in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not hatred.
Fear.
The boy's mouth trembled as he bit down on his lower lip, hard enough that fresh blood appeared between his teeth. His eyelids fluttered, and Seventeen realized that he was struggling to remain conscious.
For a moment, Seventeen hesitated.
Then he noticed the light.
A faint blue green glow began gathering around the boy's palms, barely visible beneath the blood and dirt covering his hands.
It was weak at first.
But it was growing.
Seventeen's eyes widened.
No.
He tightened his grip around the brick.
Not again.
The glow strengthened, and Seventeen raised the brick with both hands, forcing his trembling arms upward until the broken stone hung above his head.
Every muscle in his body screamed in protest.
The boy beneath him stared.
His eyes widened.
Seventeen looked down at him.
His voice came out rough and broken.
"It's you or me."
The boy's lips parted.
Seventeen tightened his grip.
"I choose me."
He swung.
The brick descended toward the side of the boy's head.
Then, barely louder than a breath, a voice escaped from beneath him.
"Please... no."
Seventeen's arms faltered.
For one brief instant, he looked directly into the boy's eyes, and something about the expression staring back at him made his chest tighten.
The fear.
The desperation.
The way the boy stared at the approaching brick as though he already knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Seventeen had seen that look before.
He had felt it.
He remembered lying helpless beneath someone stronger, the weight of another person's body pressing against his own while he struggled to move. He remembered the suffocating pressure in his chest, the blood filling his mouth, and the terrible certainty that the next strike might be the one that finally ended everything.
He remembered being afraid.
Not simply of the pain, but of knowing that someone else could decide whether he lived or died.
And now...
Seventeen looked down.
The boy beneath him was trembling.
His glowing hands barely moved.
His eyes remained fixed on the brick.
I'm the one holding it.
For an instant, it was as though he were looking at himself.
Another kid.
Another person who had been driven into a corner.
Someone who seemed to have nothing left to lose.
Seventeen twisted his wrists.
The brick changed direction.
BOOM!
It struck the stone beside the boy's head, the impact sending a sharp fragment scraping across his cheek and opening a deep cut along the side of his face.
"AAAGH!"
The boy screamed, jerking violently as the sound of the brick striking the ground beside his ear overwhelmed everything else around him.
Seventeen stared down at him, his arms trembling as the brick remained pressed against the stone.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then the boy beneath him shifted.
His glowing hand twitched.
Seventeen's eyes snapped toward it.
He's still trying.
He released the brick and drove his right fist into the boy's face.
The boy raised an arm, attempting to protect himself, but Seventeen struck again, his voice cracking as he shouted for him to stay down.
The boy twisted beneath him, trying to escape, and Seventeen caught his shoulder before forcing him back against the ground. Another punch struck his jaw, followed by another that landed awkwardly against his raised forearm.
Seventeen's fists were no longer closing properly. His knuckles had begun swelling, and several fingers refused to bend whenever he attempted to tighten his grip. Blood covered his palms, some of it his own and some of it the boy's, while every strike sent another sharp pain through his wrists.
But he couldn't let the boy get up.
Not while his hands were still glowing.
Not while he could still fight.
Seventeen continued striking, using whatever part of his fists or palms could still make contact. His movements had become slower and less controlled, his arms trembling so violently that he could barely lift them between blows.
The boy attempted to raise his hands again, but the movement was weak.
Another strike caught his shoulder.
Then his jaw.
His head turned sideways, and the blue green light around his fingers flickered before gradually fading.
Seventeen raised his arm once more.
He waited.
The boy didn't move.
His fist remained suspended above him as he stared down at the bloodied face beneath him, waiting for another movement, another flash of mana, anything that might mean the fight wasn't over.
But nothing came.
Slowly, Seventeen lowered his arm.
His breathing filled the tunnel, each inhalation rough and uneven as he struggled to draw enough air into his burning lungs.
He remained sitting above the boy for several moments before finally shifting his weight away. His arms nearly gave out beneath him, and he had to catch himself against the wall to avoid collapsing directly onto the stranger.
He dragged himself backward until his shoulders struck the cold stone, then lowered himself into a sitting position among the scattered rubble.
For a while, he simply sat there.
His lungs burned.
His legs trembled.
And somewhere beneath all the pain, he could still feel his heart pounding, refusing to slow even though the fight was over.
He looked toward the boy again.
Was he really going to tell someone?
The thought came quietly.
Seventeen stared at the bloodied face.
He remembered the way the boy had looked back during the chase, the way he had stumbled when he noticed Seventeen following, and the way he had run faster.
He was running away.
Seventeen swallowed.
But he saw Morgan.
He remembered the dining chamber, the fallen man, Morgan's hood slipping, and the smaller figure standing in the distance.
He saw her.
That much Seventeen believed.
But what had happened afterward?
Had the boy been running to tell someone?
Or had he been running because Seventeen was chasing him?
Seventeen looked toward the boy's hands.
The faint blue green light was gone.
Then why did he attack me?
He remembered the empty passage, the sudden stop, the glowing palms, and the way the boy had thrown him against the wall.
He attacked first.
The thought should have reassured him.
It didn't.
Because Seventeen had followed him.
Through the bazaar.
Past the merchants.
Into the empty tunnels.
And he hadn't stopped.
Not once.
He looked down at his hands.
The blood covering them had begun drying around his knuckles. He slowly attempted to close his right fist, but pain shot through his fingers before he could manage it.
A sudden cramp twisted through his stomach.
Seventeen pressed a hand against his abdomen. At first he thought it was another injury, another sharp protest from his battered ribs, but then his mouth flooded with saliva and a sour heat climbed his throat. He leaned forward, trying to swallow it back, and gagged so hard that his whole body shuddered.
He vomited onto the stone.
Thin, bitter bile splattered between his knees, followed by a few small, half digested scraps of food from what little he'd managed to eat recently. Some struck the front of his shirt and clung to the cloth. The smell made him gag again, and he folded over himself, heaving until there was almost nothing left to bring up.
His stomach kept contracting anyway. Each dry heave dragged against his injured chest, sending fresh pain through his ribs. One hand scraped against the floor as he tried to brace himself, while the other clutched at his shirt, his fingers trembling too badly to get a proper hold. Sweat dripped from his nose into the mess beneath him.
When the spasms finally eased, Seventeen stayed bent forward, shaking. A thin strand of saliva hung from his lips before breaking against his shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to breathe, but each inhale came ragged and shallow, leaving him dizzy and nauseated.
He couldn't tell whether he was shaking from pain, exhaustion, or fear. His body seemed to have forgotten how to stop.
Then, through the sound of his own heaving breaths, he heard something.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Footsteps.
Running.
Seventeen's head turned toward the passage.
Someone was coming.
His heart lurched.
Another one?
He stared toward the entrance, listening as the footsteps grew louder.
Closer.
Whoever was approaching was moving quickly, their shoes striking the stone in a steady rhythm that echoed through the empty corridor.
Seventeen looked toward the boy lying beside him.
Then toward the broken brick.
He reached for it, dragging it closer with fingers that barely obeyed him.
Get up.
He planted one hand against the ground and attempted to push himself upright.
His arm trembled violently.
Get up!
He forced his legs beneath him, but the moment he tried to stand, a sharp pain spread through his chest and nearly sent him collapsing back against the wall.
He caught himself.
Barely.
The footsteps continued approaching.
Seventeen looked toward the entrance again.
If he stayed where he was, whoever came through would see him immediately.
He couldn't fight another person.
Not like this.
He could barely stand.
His eyes shifted toward the narrow stretch of wall beside the tunnel entrance.
It was only a short distance away.
But if he could reach it...
Seventeen leaned forward.
Rather than attempting to straighten his legs, he allowed the weight of his upper body to pull him ahead. His feet scraped against the stone as he stumbled forward, using the momentum to carry himself toward the entrance.
He nearly fell twice.
Each time, he managed to catch himself against the wall, dragging his aching body another step forward until he finally reached the narrow space beside the opening.
He pressed his shoulder against the stone.
His entire body trembled.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Seventeen looked down at the brick in his hand.
He tightened his grip as much as his damaged fingers allowed.
Then he heard something else.
His own breathing.
It was loud.
Far too loud.
Every breath came in a rough, desperate gasp, echoing against the walls around him. Even with the approaching footsteps, he could hear himself struggling to pull air into his lungs.
He'll hear me.
Seventeen pressed himself harder against the wall.
He tried breathing through his nose.
It didn't help.
His chest rose and fell violently, and the effort of keeping himself upright only made his breathing worse.
The footsteps grew louder.
Seventeen swallowed.
Then he held his breath.
The sudden silence from his own body was almost painful.
His lungs immediately protested, demanding air that he refused to give them.
He raised the brick above his shoulder, keeping his body pressed against the stone while his eyes remained fixed on the narrow opening.
Just a little longer.
The footsteps approached.
Seventeen could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribs.
Come on.
His chest tightened.
He swallowed again, fighting the urge to gasp.
The edges of his vision began darkening.
Small points of light flickered before his eyes, appearing and disappearing whenever he blinked.
Not yet.
His arm trembled beneath the weight of the brick.
The footsteps were almost upon him.
His lungs burned.
He could feel his body beginning to sway, his knees threatening to buckle as the lack of air combined with the exhaustion already overwhelming him.
Breathe.
The thought came instinctively.
Seventeen clenched his jaw.
No.
If he breathed now, whoever was approaching would hear him.
And if they heard him...
I'll die.
The darkness at the edges of his vision thickened.
More tiny lights appeared, flickering like distant stars against the stone walls.
He could barely focus on the entrance anymore.
Just... a little...
A shadow crossed the opening.
Seventeen moved.
With a strained cry, he threw his entire body forward, swinging the brick toward the hooded figure stepping into the passage.
The stranger shifted.
Only slightly.
Their upper body leaned backward, allowing the brick to pass harmlessly through the space where their head had been a moment earlier.
Seventeen's eyes widened.
The sudden lack of resistance carried his already unbalanced body forward.
His feet failed to catch him.
He stumbled.
Then fell.
The brick slipped from his fingers and clattered across the stone as Seventeen crashed onto his side, finally releasing the breath he had been holding.
Air rushed into his lungs.
He coughed violently.
His body curled inward as he struggled to breathe, each desperate inhalation sending another wave of pain through his chest.
Above him, the hooded figure remained standing.
For several moments, there was silence.
Then a familiar voice spoke.
"Goddamnit. Another one?"
Seventeen froze.
The figure looked past him toward the unconscious boy lying farther down the passage.
Then back toward Seventeen.
"What am I running, an orphanage?"
Seventeen slowly lifted his head.
His vision was still blurred, but he recognized the voice.
Myers?
The figure crouched beside him.
"Are you trying to kill me now, too?"
Seventeen opened his mouth.
Nothing came out except another strained breath.
Myers sighed.
"Wonderful."
He reached toward Seventeen, but the boy instinctively flinched, his damaged hands attempting to rise between them.
Myers paused.
"Seventeen."
The boy stared at him.
"It's me."
Seventeen blinked several times, struggling to focus on the face beneath the hood.
Slowly, his arms lowered.
Myers examined him for a moment, his expression growing more serious as he noticed the blood covering his clothes and the unnatural way several of his fingers hung.
"What happened?"
Seventeen swallowed.
His throat burned.
"He..."
He coughed.
Myers waited.
"He saw her."
Myers eyes narrowed.
"Who?"
Seventeen weakly turned his head toward the unconscious boy.
"Morgan."
For a moment, Myers said nothing.
Then he looked toward the stranger lying among the rubble.
He stood and approached the boy, crouching beside him to examine his injuries. One hand moved toward the boy's neck, checking for a pulse before briefly inspecting the blood covering the side of his face.
"He's alive," Myers muttered.
Seventeen remained where he was, struggling to steady his breathing.
Myers looked back toward him.
"You did this?"
Seventeen nodded weakly.
Myers stared at him.
Then at the boy.
Then back at Seventeen.
He opened his mouth as though preparing to say something, but stopped.
His gaze had shifted toward the wall.
A large indentation marked the stone where Seventeen had been thrown earlier, several cracks spreading outward from the point of impact. Farther along the passage, another section of the wall had been damaged, its surface fractured around a deep depression.
Myers slowly stood.
His eyes traveled across the corridor.
The broken stone.
The scattered rubble.
The deep cracks running along the wall.
Then he noticed the ground.
Several small craters marked the floor, their edges fractured and uneven, as though something far heavier than a person's fist had struck the stone.
Myers expression changed.
He turned toward Seventeen.
"Did he use mana?"
Seventeen blinked.
"What?"
"The boy." Myers pointed toward the unconscious figure. "Did he use mana against you?"
Seventeen struggled to remember.
The blue green light.
The unnatural hardness of the boy's body.
The way his fist had shattered the stone beside his head.
"Yeah..." he whispered.
He swallowed.
"I think so."
Myers stared at him.
Then he looked toward the damaged walls again.
"Shit."
The word came out quietly.
But there was something in his voice that made Seventeen's stomach tighten.
Myers immediately moved.
He crouched beside the unconscious boy and lifted him from the ground, pulling the smaller figure over one shoulder before turning toward Seventeen.
"Can you stand?"
Seventeen attempted to push himself upright.
His legs trembled.
He barely managed to raise himself a few inches before his arms gave out.
Myers didn't wait.
He reached down with his free arm and pulled Seventeen against his side, lifting him from the ground with surprising ease.
Seventeen gasped as the sudden movement sent pain through his chest.
"Myers..."
"Not now."
Myers adjusted his grip, securing Seventeen against him while the unconscious boy remained draped over his other shoulder.
He looked once more toward the damaged stone.
Then toward the entrance.
"We need to leave."
Seventeen tried to lift his head.
"Why?"
Myers was already moving.
His footsteps struck the stone as he hurried toward the passage, carrying both boys without slowing.
"Because," he said, his voice low and unusually tense, "we've already stayed here too long."
Then he broke into a run.
And the three disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.