Chapter 100 Sad end

Chapter 100 Sad end
Chapter 100: Sad end 

Audrey sat in her wheelchair near a long wooden table, the kind that looked carved by hand and repaired too many times to count. A shallow bowl rested on her lap, filled with something that resembled porridge but tasted faintly of roots and salt. She ate slowly, mechanically, more out of discipline than appetite.

Around her, the underworld breathed.

Lanterns burned with a dim amber glow, their flames steady, as if untouched by wind. People passed by dressed in clothes that belonged to another century, suspenders, long skirts, boots worn thin at the soles. Their voices carried accents that felt old, words shaped differently, slower, deliberate. Somewhere far off, metal clanged against metal. Somewhere else, a baby cried.

Audrey kept her head down. She had learned not to draw attention.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the spoon when she heard Willa’s footsteps. She recognized them now, light but urgent, the way someone walked when they were trying not to look suspicious while carrying something dangerous.

Willa didn’t speak at first. She crouched beside Audrey’s chair, pretending to adjust the wheel, her head low, her mouth close to Audrey’s ear.

“I found something,” she whispered.

Audrey didn’t look up. “You’re shaking,” she murmured back. “That means it’s real.”

Willa swallowed. “There’s a tunnel.”

Audrey froze.

“A tunnel?” she repeated quietly.

“Yes,” Willa said. “Behind the old grain storage, past the iron racks. It’s hidden. Not sealed. Someone uses it, or used to.”

Audrey finally lifted her head and looked at her. “Out?”

Willa nodded. “I think so. It slopes upward. I felt air. Fresh air.”

Audrey closed her eyes slowly.

For a moment, she said nothing. The sounds of the underworld filled the silence, the scrape of chairs, distant laughter, the low murmur of survival continuing without them.

Then she exhaled. “You have to go,” Audrey said.

Willa blinked. “We go.”

Audrey opened her eyes. “No. You go.”

Willa shook her head immediately. “I’m not leaving you here.”

Audrey’s voice hardened. “Willa.”

“Don’t,” Willa said quickly. “Don’t do that thing where you decide for both of us.”

Audrey leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking beneath her weight. “You don’t understand what that tunnel means.”

“It means freedom,” Willa replied. “It means we go back to our lives.”

“It means speed,” Audrey said. “It means climbing. Crawling. Hiding. Running.”

Willa’s jaw tightened. “I can help you.”

Audrey looked down at her legs, still and useless beneath the table. “You can’t carry me.”

Willa reached for her hands. “We’ll figure it out.”

“No,” Audrey said firmly. “You’ll get caught.”

Silence stretched between them.

Willa’s eyes shone. “I’m not leaving you.”

Audrey leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Listen to me. I’ve survived worse than this. But I won’t survive knowing you died because you wouldn’t leave.”

“That’s not fair,” Willa whispered.

Audrey’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Nothing about my life has been fair.”

Willa stood abruptly and paced a step away, running her hands through her hair. “So what, I just walk out and abandon you?”

“You walk out,” Audrey said, “and you come back with help.”

“They’ll think I’m insane.”

“Then prove you’re not,” Audrey replied. “You know names. You know places. You know what’s buried on that farm. 40001567 is the code.” 

Willa turned back to her sharply. “And what if I can’t come back? What if the tunnel collapses? What if…”

“Then you live,” Audrey interrupted. “And that’s enough.”

Willa stared at her, breathing hard. “You’re really doing this.”

Audrey nodded. “I’ve made harder calls.”

Willa knelt in front of her, gripping the armrests of the wheelchair. “I swear to you,” she said, voice shaking, “the moment I’m out, I’m coming back. With people. With weapons if I have to.”

Audrey reached out and cupped her face. “I know.”

Tears slipped free from Willa’s eyes. “I’m not fast without you.”

Audrey smiled faintly. “You’ll be surprised what fear does to a person.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, memorizing each other’s faces.

Then Audrey withdrew her hand.

“Go,” she said.

Willa stood slowly. “Hide,” she replied. “If the Keeper comes back…”

“I’ll manage her,” Audrey said. “I always do.”

Willa hesitated one last time, then leaned down and hugged her hard. Audrey closed her eyes and returned the embrace, breathing her in like oxygen.

When Willa finally pulled away, she didn’t look back.

Audrey listened to her footsteps fade, swallowed by the underworld’s endless noise.

Only then did she allow herself to shake.



The farm was silent in a different way.

Not the heavy, breathing quiet of the underworld, but the hollow stillness of a place that had lost something and didn’t know how to replace it.

Tennessee sat on the low wooden steps outside the farmhouse, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles ached. The sun was setting, painting the fields in gold and shadow, but he didn’t see it.

He hadn’t moved in hours.

The truth had settled into him slowly, like poison. Audrey the spy. Audrey the liar. Audrey the woman who had looked him in the eye and smiled while keeping an entire life hidden behind it.

He rubbed his face roughly, dragging his palms down until they covered his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered to no one.

The wind carried his words away.

He thought of her laugh. The way she went quiet when she was thinking too much. The nights she stared at the ceiling like sleep was an enemy.

“All that time,” he murmured. “You were watching us.”

Anger flared, sharp and sudden. He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps across the dirt.

“You used us,” he said aloud. “You used me.”

The words tasted bitter. But anger didn’t hold.

It cracked almost immediately, collapsing under the weight of memory. Audrey in pain. Audrey in the wheelchair. Audrey screaming on the phone when her agency abandoned her.

Tennessee stopped walking.

“She was alone,” he said softly.

The realization hit him harder than any lie. Whatever Audrey had been, whatever she had hidden, she had still suffered. She had still suffered. She had still lost her legs in that house, under their watch.

He sank back onto the steps and buried his face in his hands.

“I should’ve protected you,” he whispered. “Agent or not.”

His chest tightened painfully. Tears slipped through his fingers, silent, unguarded.

“I miss you,” he admitted. “God, Audrey, I miss you. I love you…please come back to me.”