The square remains dead. The only sounds are the squeak of the well's pulley and the steady slosh of water being poured into containers. Michael stands beside me, a pale, nervous shadow, but his grip on the candle is steady. He's trying to be brave. It's not working, but the effort is there.
Finally, the packs are full. Flynn heaves one onto his back with a grunt, testing its weight. "That's everything. Let's get out of this cursed place."
"Agreed," Siena says, her gaze sweeping the square one last time. Her eyes are hard, her expression unreadable, but I can feel the tension radiating off her. She wants to be gone as badly as we do.
We form up again. Flynn and Siena take the lead, their burdens making them slower but no less alert. Michael and I bring up the rear, the flickering candlelight a small, defiant beacon in our hands. We walk back through the silent streets the way we came, retracing our steps with a sense of grim urgency. Every shadow seems deeper now, every doorway a potential ambush.
The silence of the town feels less like an absence of life and more like a held breath, waiting to be released in a scream.
We reach the tree line without incident. The familiar, suffocating canopy of the forest closes over us, and the town disappears behind us. But the sense of being watched, of being hunted, doesn't fade. If anything, it intensifies.
The sun is already beginning to dip toward the horizon, painting the western sky in streaks of orange and bloody red. The light is fading, and with it, our primary defense. The forest around us is no longer just a place of shade; it's becoming a breeding ground for the Gloom.
"Move faster," Siena commands, her voice a low, urgent whisper. "We don't want to be caught out here after dark."
We don't need to be told twice. We pick up the pace, our footsteps eating up the forest floor in a desperate, rhythmic cadence.
We need to run if we're going to make it back before sunset. It's been longer than I realized, and every moment wasted is a deadly danger. If we aren't at the crypt before the light is gone, Thomson won't open the doors for us. He can't. It's too much of a risk.
So we start to run.
Flynn, laden as he is, still sets a punishing pace. Siena keeps up with him easily, her movements fluid and tireless. I keep pace as best I can, my lungs burning, my legs aching. Michael, who was never the most athletic of us, is already falling behind, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The woods are a blur of green and brown around us. The path is a twisted maze of roots and undergrowth, a treacherous obstacle course in the dying light. I can feel the charge in the air changing, the familiar, oppressive presence of the Gloom rising with the setting sun. It's a primal fear, an instinct that has been hammered into us since childhood. Night is when they hunt.
And then I feel it. A flicker of that dark, sooty resonance. Not ahead of us, not behind us, but... to the side. In the dense undergrowth.
"Flynn!" I warn. "We need to move!"
It's not like he isn't already running but...
We can't afford to be held up by Dwellers. It's less likely we'll make it to the door in time, and almost impossible if Siena realizes what I am. The risk is too high. We have to outpace them.
Flynn glances at me, and he understands. He pushes himself harder, his feet pounding against the earth. He's a blur of motion, a golden comet racing against the coming darkness. Michael is a distant, stumbling shadow behind us. Siena is a lithe, silent shadow, her face a mask of grim determination.
The forest floor is a treacherous maze of roots and fallen leaves. I trip over a root, nearly falling, but I manage to catch myself, my heart hammering against my ribs. I can feel the soot-things closing in, their presence a cold, malevolent weight on the edges of my senses. They're not just in the undergrowth anymore. They're all around us, a silent, waiting army.
"Get ahead," I hiss to Michael.
If I trail behind, I can hold them back a little without Siena realizing it. Before they can stop us. It increases the risk to me, of course, but what does that matter? I'm some kind of monster myself. This is just making me useful.
Michael, to his credit, doesn't argue. He just nods, gasping for breath, and stumbles forward, putting his head down and running as fast as his legs can carry him.
I let myself fall back, just a few steps. It's enough.
We're being hunted by Dwellers, I think, not just that soot. But I can still use their Gloom against them to trip them up before they can get in range of us. Tendrils of the pale goo form latticework in the trees, creating cobweb walls that'll slow them down. I don't have to be in close range to know how to shape it.
But it will only slow them down.
They control the Gloom too, after all. They make it.
If they get closer even with my cursed abilities we'll be stuck in a fight. And a fight right now...it's a death sentence. We won't make it back to the crypt in time.
"Faster!" Siena yells, her voice tight with urgency. She looks back at me, her green eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?! Keep up!"
I can't explain. I just run, my mind and arms reaching out to either side of us to create more obstacles, more barriers in the trees. The Gloom moves with a will that is both mine and not mine, a familiar, horrifying dance. I can feel the Dwellers behind us, their frustration, their hunger. They're close. Too close.
We burst into a small clearing. The path splits, a fork in the road. One way leads to a steep, rocky incline. The other way leads down into a dark, dense swamp.
Without a word, Flynn veers left, toward the incline. It's the harder path, but it's faster. Importantly, it's also where the sunlight is still falling.
It will buy us at least the rest of the time until sunset. Which is all we have, anyway.