Page 77 of Lost Echoes

Florencia pulls out her recorder. “We need to document everything before we move. This is evidence.”

Ember rounds on her, voice sharp. “We don’t need evidence right now. We need them.”

The alarm wails louder. I look toward the vent where the thread disappears into the dark, still shifting slightly. Almost like it’s being pulled from the other side.

My heart skips a beat. “Kenzi.”

For a moment, everything stills. Then, from deep inside the vent, a faint voice answers.

“Billa?”

It’s broken, metallic, distorted by the echo, but it’s hers.

I drop to my knees. “Kenzi, we’re here! Hold on!”

The thread jerks once, snapping tight, then goes slack.

Luke shines his light into the vent. “It’s too narrow. We’ll have to circle around.”

Florencia swallows hard. “If the tunnels are still mapped the same way, that means they’re heading toward sub-level three.”

“Where they kept the early experiments.” Ember’s eyes widen.

For a moment, none of us speaks. The air hums with electricity and dread.

I rise, heart thundering. “It’s time we finish this.”

We follow the thread into the dark.

39

Kenzi

My ears won’t stop ringing because the alarms are louder down here. The alarms wail in such a way they make it seem like the building itself has a heartbeat.

Sofia’s hand is clamped around mine as we move through the service tunnels. The light from her small flashlight flickers over pipes and dust and old warning signs. Restricted Access. Authorized Staff Only.

The thread runs ahead of us, barely visible as white against gray, trailing from somewhere deeper in the dark.

“Where does this go?” I ask, my voice too small against the roar of the alarms.

Sofia doesn’t look back. “Sub-level three. The archive.”

“Archive?”

“Where they kept the records they didn’t want the public to see.”

Of course.

We turn another corner, the air growing colder. The walls are damp now, painted with old mildew. I cover my mouth and nose, though my still lungs ache from the dust. But I keep going, because stopping means thinking, and thinking means remembering.

I just want all of this to end. It’s gone on too long.

I won’t stop until we’re finished.

The thread tightens around a drain and disappears into a side tunnel, which is both narrower and darker.

Sofia crouches, examining it. “It’s still being pulled.”