The words nailed me to the floor. My chest went hollow. “Catherine?” I croaked, before I could stop myself.
Celeste nodded. “She’s here. Or close. And so is your end, if you don’t work fast.”
For a second, I couldn’t think. The pain in my hand, the pressure in my head—none of it compared to the hope. If Catherine was alive, if she hadn’t already buried me—
I fought the tremor in my voice. “I have to see her.”
Celeste pressed a palm to my cheek. “Don’t die in this room, Toolie. Promise me.” She whispered, “There’s always a hole somewhere. Find it.”
Moab caught our eyes, then scanned the corners of the cell. “What’s she saying?”
I shook my head, lips clamped tight. “Just thinking out loud.”
Scarlette snorted. “Well, think louder, or we’re all dead by morning.”
I stood and walked the perimeter of the cell. Each wall was slicked with centuries of snot and piss. I tapped the bars, tested the corners, and ran my nails down the mortar. Nothing gave.
There was a dark patch in the floor, near where Celeste sat. A channel, maybe a drain, clogged with so much black slime I couldn’t see the bottom.
I knelt by it, dug my fingers in, and fished out a tangle of rags and straw and rat bones. It stank worse than anything I’d ever smelled, and I’d grown up cleaning cow stalls. Under the crap, I felt a cold current of air.
“Here,” I said, yanking out another clot of gunk.
Moab stomped over, peered down. “Drain. Leads somewhere.”
Scarlette’s mood flipped in a second—she was at my side, nails scraping at the edge. “If it leads out, it’s our shot.”
Moab glared. “You’d never fit.”
Scarlette kicked his ankle. “Neither would you, lummox.”
I worked faster, prying out more slime, stones, and what might have been a rat skeleton the size of my fist. Inch by inch, I made a hole big enough to wedge my arm in up to the elbow. Beyond, I felt nothing but foul wind and the tickle of moving water.
I looked back at Celeste, who nodded. “Always a hole.”
I stripped off my shirt, wrapped it around my hand, and reached deeper. The drain was lined with broken stone and glass, every surface eager to rip skin. I pushed, teeth gritted, feeling the squeeze get tighter.
“Moab,” I said, “grab my feet.”
He did, with zero hesitation.
I slid further, past the shoulder, into a darkness that felt alive. For a second, I panicked—the weight of stone, the wet, the cold, all of it pressing down. But I saw her, even with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing. Catherine. Her laugh, her hair, the way she used to call me “fool” and kiss me after.
That memory anchored me, kept me from screaming.
I pushed, wiggled, and felt the drain open wider past the initial choke point. There was room to move. Just barely.
I reversed, dragged myself back up, and sucked in air like I’d been underwater.
“It goes somewhere,” I wheezed. “Big enough.”
“Let’s go,” Scarlette said.
Moab grunted. “No. Just him.” He looked at me. “You’re ass better be back by dawn.”
“I got this,” I said.
Scarlette jabbed him in the ribs. “Lucky for us, you’re a human battering ram, Toolie.”