ROXIE

The iron rungs of the ladder were freezing against my bare palms, the rusted metal biting into my skin as I descended blindly into the dark column of the shaft.

Above me, the heavy oak trapdoor slammed shut with a definitive, echoing clank, cutting off the dim amber light of the office and plunging us into an absolute, suffocating void.

The air down here tasted different; thick with the scent of stagnant dust, ancient brick, and damp industrial grease. Every time my shoes struck a lower rung, the sound echoed upward through the narrow column like a hollow heartbeat.

"Keep moving, Roxie," Julian’s voice drifted up from right beneath...