Page 11 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn

At some point, we pass by another who drags the carcass of a donkey upward by two others, the smell absolutely foul. I’m not shocked, though. Hard to get rid of bodies when there’s no soil.

Usually, the pigs are for that.

The tunnels spill out into an open cavern that spans a good three or four stories. Buildings rise haphazardly along the cavern walls, stacked precariously and connected by old wooden walkways. Their windows faintly glow, and the occasional shadow of a figure slips by. Above are large grates that filter in a bluish-gray hue of natural light that gives the Undercroft an otherworldly pallor, water dripping down in a dramatic, glimmering descent.

I always imagined this as an ancient Skull’s Row, reclaimed by the cliffs it’s built upon, the wood of long-forgotten structures fossilizing into stone like the old world is being slowly digested. The people here are as odd as salty legs, or the weathered bastards that rarely step onto land. There's a tangle of uneven stone pathways and rickety wooden walkways suspended over dark chasms, and I don’t want to know how many drunkards or poor souls have accidentally wandered off.

The air buzzes with the murmur of deals being struck, arguments over coin, and the occasional muffled cry quickly silenced. I swear if I see an ocean imp climbing up from the bowels of this city, or a molgrin…

Jane’s energy vibrates with uncertainty, anticipation, and longing, sending my gaze all around the discord of auras.

“What is it?” I ask as we momentarily stop when Donna raises a hand.

There it is—the calming effect I have on her. The reaction that I can’t get enough of, as if something in my chest tells me I’msupposedto make her feel this way.

“This still feels safe?” she asks, gesturing to symbols of thieving guilds etched onto the wall.

“I don’t know if my ability to sense anything matters anymore. I couldn’t feel Shade in the other room.”

She looks up at me in surprise. “What?”

Worrying Jane is the least of my desires right now, but I also have to give her the truth in case something happens to us. “I’ll examine that later, love. Right now, these men with white eyes fit with the stories I’ve been hearing about down here, so I trust that. It’s better than going to Rosmertta’s. You and I both want answers, and this gets us off the streets, and this gets you to see daddy dearest.”

She faces forward again, moving when Donna motions for us to follow. “Yes, that’s right—your sister, too. He’ll help you find her.”

It’s not just for her, Jane; it’s for you.

At some point, a lanky man with unkempt gray hair sharpens his focus on Jane, a mixture of desperation and skill in his gaze. When I turn my head at him, and our eyes meet, the very pleasant reaction of fear completely washes right through him, and he steps away.

I’m quite literally her shield down here.

And I’ll gladly leave a trail of blood, if necessary.

The tunnels twist and wind unpredictably—a purposeful design to confuse anyone unfamiliar down here—some so narrow you have to press your back to the cold, jagged walls to squeeze through, others opening into vast, echoing chambers where the darkness seems to stretch infinitely. The stonework is inconsistent—some walls are rough and natural, others are smoothed and adorned with faded carvings and symbols.

Darkness eventually consumes us, the only light emitting from someone carrying a torch as we take a few more turns.

I’ll be fucking glad when we’ve stopped, my head faint from the blood loss, but my core instinct tells me I’ll live.Although I don’t like how far we’re removed from resources. I won’t be able to recover on air; I need food and water, at the minimum.

Then I feelher.

The fucking witch.

“Are thoserubies?” Jane asks.

I crane my head up to notice perfectly red ruby crystals growing out of the wall like a fungus.

“Fucking hells,” I grumble.

Rorge approaches a spot in the wall and pulls out a crystal necklace from underneath his clothes, holding it up to the stone as lines suddenly appear and glow vermilion, forming the outline of a door until the glowing disappears, and then the rock moves and bends to take on the outlined shape.

Then, he takes out an iron key to open the rusty, resistant locks.

As the heavy doors swing open, we’re flooded by a rush of sounds. The once-confined space expands, revealing a tall ceiling adorned with flickering torches and mismatched candle chandeliers. Ventilation holes dot the ceilings and floors, allowing fresh air to circulate. The immense chamber is filled with rows of tables occupied by people who indulge in lively conversation and drinks. The scent of rich leather, spiced drinks, and polished wood fills my lungs.

And of course, all the fucking rubies growing out of the walls, glinting like bloodied glass in torchlight, and I swear they fuckingpulse.Rows of long, sturdy tables stretch across the room. And even though it’s a rough-hewn lot, there’s a cohesiveness I usually find in either armies or ship crews.

The room falls silent as everyone’s attention is on us. It’s not just curiosity—it’s expectation, a charged stillness that sharpens as their auras shift in unison.Rorge doesn't stop, continuing to guide us towards the left.