Chapter 26 The Second Voice
Detective Morrow
The gate exhaled, and I froze.
Something more subtle, not fear. A pressure behind my eyes. As if what was on the other side of the arch wasn’t aggressive, but rather, was calmly waiting and anticipating my error.
The idea popped into my head, and while it wasn’t my voice, it felt so familiar that I accepted it without hesitation.
You’re not ready for that door.
I stepped back.
The decision felt like mine. That was the unsettling bit.
I turned and ran.
My body moved with an efficiency that should have terrified me, but didn’t. Each footfall was precise, demonstrating perfect balance and efficiency without delay. The darkness engulfed me in the tunnel, but I could still perceive every crack in the brickwork and each droplet of water on the corroded pipes. My senses became honed, precise, and intentional.
Good, the voice murmured.
Staying alive matters more than answers.
That sounded reasonable. Tactical. Something I would’ve told myself a week ago.
I went deeper into the service tunnels beneath New Orleans because the problems only grew worse if I stopped. My hunger intensified. The mental interference became more pronounced. The condensation dripped, creating a sound that resonated in my mind, resembling a metronome that measured time until something I couldn’t bear to acknowledge.
Movement keeps the edge off, the voice encouraged.
You’re doing the right thing.
My footsteps reverberated on bricks laid before the city’s facade of modernity was constructed. I could hear rats from three chambers over. The sound of tires on asphalt rose from above. Heartbeats—too many of them—thudding through the stone and flooding my mouth with saliva.
I swallowed hard.
“Don’t,” I muttered. “I’m not—”
You’re still you, the voice assured me, calm and steady.
You’re just… more now.
That didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like a clarification.
A faint blade of morning light was escaping from a maintenance hatch. I miscalculated the angle, and a hiss escaped my lips as my forearm was burned, the skin immediately blistering with a harsh, metallic pain.
I recoiled into the shadows.
The pain faded faster than it should have.
See? the voice said, almost pleased.
You adapt.
The skin on my arm mended before my eyes, becoming both finer and more resilient. My detective instincts caused an automatic registration of the exposure time, burn depth, and healing rate.
“Daylight’s officially off the table,” I muttered.
Temporarily, the voice corrected.
There are workarounds. You’ll learn them.
That was… comforting.
The tunnels’ narrowing forced me to move sideways through a space enclosed by brick and pipe. The cold, mineral-laden moisture on the walls made them slick, and the slightest contact with my skin triggered a painful surge of information. I understood what the stone was made of. The rust’s age. The approximate pressure of the city above my head. None of it felt useful—only unavoidable.
You’re pushing too hard, the voice cautioned, warm now, almost familiar.
Slow down. You don’t need to carry everything at once.
I obeyed without thinking, easing my pace. The hunger softened, retreating just enough to feel manageable.
The first flash hit me like a baseball bat. Wham.
Not a memory, but a disturbance.
For half a second, the world tilted. The tunnel dissolved into white stone and amber light. I wasn’t standing anymore. I was lying on something cold, my wrists burning, silver biting deep. I smelled old magic and iron and humiliation so sharp it made my throat close.
I staggered, catching myself against the wall as the vision snapped away.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered.