A figure emerged from the stairwell, moving slowly, silhouetted against the dim grey light.

They were holding something in their hand.

My phone in my pocket began to vibrate, the screen lighting up my jacket from the inside.

The figure stopped, turning their head toward the light.

I slid my hand into my pocket and fumbled for the buttons on the side of my phone, squeezing them until the vibration stopped.

The shadow on the stairs shifted, the heavy footsteps resuming their descent.

“Who is there?” a voice demanded, raspy and sharp.

It was Darrow.

He held a heavy iron bar in his right hand.

Dust swirled around his silhouette in the beam of a small flashlight he gripped in his left.

I pressed my back harder against the cold concrete pillar, hoping the darkness would swallow me.

“Beatrice?” Darrow called out, his voice echoing in the hollow stairwell. “Is that you down there?”

He stepped off the bottom riser and onto the cracked concrete floor of the basement.

His boots crunched on the loose gravel and dried plaster.

Above him, another shadow appeared, silent and fast.