The metallic raps on their door, marked with the single word “TITHE,” rang through the small room. Cold air dragged rough through Osenya's throat. Jorik stood frozen, the ink-black script of the eviction notice stark against his pale face. *Preparation for transfer will commence at midnight. Do not resist.* Midnight was minutes away. “The heater,” Osenya said, her voice tight, a thin strand of thought cutting through the rising panic. “The one I rigged.” She remembered the loose plate, the corroded valve she’d subtly twisted to build pressure when she was desperate for warmth, knowing it was a gamble. “It’s a crude blast, but it’s our only chance.” Jorik looked from the paper to the soot-encrusted contraption in the corner, then back to her. “The wardens will be armored. They’ll expect resistance, but not… that.” He nodded, his jaw stiffening as he weighed the gamble. “It’s a risk. A single shot could ignite it.” The grinding of the tenement’s ancient gears, a constant lament in the walls, suddenly ceased, replaced by a heavy thud from the hallway. A deep, guttural voice barked, “Room 404! Open the door, by decree of the Blackloom Barony!” Osenya moved with a frantic precision, yanking the small stool away from the heater, exposing the pressure valve she’d tampered with. It hissed faintly, a sound lost in the growing clamor outside. Jorik grabbed their meager sack of brass tokens and the ancient compass, tucking them into his coat. The door buckled inward with a sickening crack, splinters flying as a heavy boot slammed into it. Two hulking figures, their faces obscured by brass-riveted masks, spilled into the room, their long stun-batons raised. Behind them, the overseer Verok pushed into the gap, grease shining across his square jaw. “Well, well. The runaway bride and her academic pet. Ready for your… reallocation?” “Now!” Osenya shrieked. With a desperate lunge, she slammed her boot down on the heater’s already weakened pressure valve. The corroded metal groaned, then tore free with a deafening shriek of escaping steam. The enforcers, caught off guard by the sudden explosion of sound, hesitated. That was all Osenya needed. A geyser of superheated water and black soot erupted from the ruptured valve, blasting directly into the lead officer's masked face. The man bellowed, his heavy armor clanking as he stumbled backward, momentarily blinded and scalded. The room filled with a choking cloud of acrid steam and burning coal dust. The second warden, momentarily disoriented, brought up his baton, but Jorik shoved Osenya towards the wall where a loose maintenance panel sat. “The shaft! Go!” Verok, recovering faster, roared an order. “Don’t let them reach the walls!” He lunged, his stun-baton arcing towards Osenya, but Jorik intercepted him, pushing him back with surprising force, buying Osenya precious seconds. She scrabbled at the rusted latch of the maintenance panel. It gave with a groan, revealing a cramped, vertical shaft, dark and smelling of damp brass and ancient rot. “Jorik! Come on!” A sharp crack bounced through the narrow entry. Jorik grunted, stumbling back as Verok’s baton connected with his arm. He reeled, but still managed to block the warden’s path, a momentary obstruction. “Go, Osenya! I’m right behind you!” She scrambled into the shaft, the narrow space barely accommodating her frame. Below, the darkness was absolute. Above, the sound of struggle intensified. She couldn’t see Jorik, only hear the grunts, the thud of heavy boots, the rasp of struggling bodies. Then, a new sound: the distinct *ping* of a projectile ricocheting off brass. A sharp cry. “Jorik!” Osenya screamed, her voice raw with terror. She started to climb back out, but Jorik’s voice, strained, reached her. “No! Keep moving! I’m coming!” She could hear his labored panting now, the dragging sound of him entering the shaft, and the panicked shouts of Verok behind him. “Don’t let them get to the main line!” They descended into the suffocating darkness, Osenya leading the way, feeling for rusted rungs and brittle pipes. The cold air bit at her throat with every pull. The sounds of pursuit grew faint above them, replaced by the deep hum of the tenement’s ventilation system. Suddenly, the entire shaft shivered. A low, grinding rumble vibrated through the brass rungs Osenya clutched. The hum of the ventilation system choked, then died. A distant, metallic shriek ripped from above, followed by a series of heavy, vibrating crashes. “What was that?” Jorik gasped, his voice tight with pain. His ribs heaved, his arm clutched against his side. Osenya felt something wet and warm drip onto her shoulder. She looked down and saw a dark, spreading stain on his worn coat. A bullet. He’d been shot. “Nadina,” Osenya whispered, piecing the ruin together. That shriek, those crashes… The main elevators. She must have jammed them. Their rival had bought them time. “We have to keep moving,” Osenya said, her voice tight, a cold determination replacing the fear. She reached for Jorik’s good arm, trying to support him. He was heavy, his steps faltering. The wound on his shoulder was bleeding freely, painting the rusty rungs with dark streaks. “I… I can’t…” Jorik gasped, his legs buckling. His weight threatened to drag them both down. The pain was too much. The loss of blood was too much. Osenya felt a primal surge of panic, then a ferocious anger. She would not lose him. Not now. Not after everything. “No,” she snarled, grabbing his sash with one hand, his elbow with the other. “You don’t get to give up! Not now, Jorik Harlen! You hear me? We are not dying in these damn walls!” She used every ounce of her remaining strength, dragging him down the narrow shaft, his body a dead weight against hers. Her muscles screamed, but she ignored them. The thought of losing him, of being alone in this brutal city, was a far worse pain. “You have to live! I need you to live!” Her voice cracked, raw with an emotion she hadn’t realized she possessed, an admission that tore through her carefully constructed pride. Air still rattled through his chest, shallow and wet. She could feel the shuddering of his body against hers, the warmth of his blood on her hand. She wouldn’t let him go. The brass rungs ended abruptly. Osenya’s foot found nothing but air. The corroded shaft floor, weakened by years of damp and neglect, groaned beneath her weight. A sickening crunch split the dark as the metal gave way. With a desperate cry, Osenya felt the ground vanish beneath them, plunging them both into the absolute darkness below.

Into the Walls