The gap under the slab was nine inches.
I know it was nine inches because I measured it with my hand twice, once when we got sealed in and once about an hour later out of pure boredom, and both times my palm went flat under the stone with a knuckle to spare and no more, because rock does not change its mind.
So whatever was moving out there could not get in.
'Right?'
Wren said nothing, which is the single most alarming thing Wren does.
'Wren.'
I'm thinking.
'Don't think. Agree with me.'
I would love to. Cade, some of the things down here don't have a skeleton.
'…'
'…Ah, damn.'
The sound came closer. Instead of footsteps, it was a dragging, wet, unhurried scrape, and then a long pause, and then more of it, closer each time by about the length of a man, and then the green glow at the bottom of the slab went dark as something put itself across the gap.
