Chapter 25 Chapter 25
They slipped into the old water channel, where the stone walls sweated and the air smelled of iron. Adrian switched on a small red flashlight, its beam too weak to travel far.
“How many?” she whispered.
“Three cars, maybe four. Enough.”
The sound of engines was clearer now, rumbling through the ground. Adrian knelt beside the sluice gate, forcing it open with the handle of his knife. Water surged in, cold and dark.
“We’ll use the current,” he said. “It’ll take us downstream a kilometre. There’s an access ladder by the bridge.”
“And if they’re waiting?”
“Then we improvise.”
He climbed down first, the flashlight beam jerking against the wet stone. “Come on.”
The water was icy, biting through her clothes. She followed the faint glow ahead of her, keeping one hand on the wall. The tunnel narrowed, sound magnified until the rush of the current swallowed every other thought.
“Stay close,” Adrian called back. His voice echoed, swallowed by the dark.
They reached a fork where the channel split. Adrian paused, scanning the marks carved into the wall — old smuggler symbols. “Left.”
Nina shivered. “You’ve done this before.”
“Too many times.”
They moved faster, half-wading, half-drifting, until the faint light of the exit shimmered ahead. The tunnel widened again; the roar of the river grew. Adrian reached for her hand, steadying her against the current. “Almost there.”
Then a new sound — metal on stone, far behind. Voices, distorted by the tunnel. The search had found the gate.
Adrian swore under his breath. “They’re in.”
They reached the exit where a rusted ladder climbed toward the surface. Adrian boosted her up first. The night above was colourless, the moon smudged by cloud. The river glinted silver; across it, headlights flickered through the trees.
She turned to help him, but he shook his head. “Go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ll draw them off. You take the case and run east along the river. There’s a village two kilometres out — find the old chapel.”
“Adrian—”
“Do it.”
The voices were closer now, boots splashing in the tunnel. He pressed the case into her hands, his grip firm. “You’re the only one they don’t expect.”
“Then come with me,” she said.
He smiled — tired, almost gentle. “I will. Just not the same way.”
He turned back toward the tunnel, gun raised.
Nina hesitated only a heartbeat before climbing the ladder, cold air hitting her face as she reached the top. Behind her, another shot echoed, then another.
She ran along the riverbank, the case banging against her side. The ground was slick with mud, the reeds whispering around her. The sound of the engines grew fainter behind her, replaced by the steady rhythm of her breathing and the pulse in her ears.
When she finally stopped, she was halfway to the bridge. The night smelled of rain and gunpowder. She turned back, searching the dark for any sign of him — movement, light, anything.
Nothing.
Only the river, swallowing everything.
She crouched by the water, trying to catch her breath. The case felt heavier now, the handle cutting into her palm. She opened it just enough to see the gold coin glint in the moonlight — the symbol that had started all of this.
A sound behind her made her freeze — footsteps on wet gravel. She turned.
Adrian stood there, soaked, bleeding, but alive.
“Couldn’t get rid of me that easy,” he said, voice hoarse.
Relief broke something loose in her chest. She almost laughed, almost cried, and instead just stepped forward, gripping his arm.
He winced but smiled. “Let’s move before we test our luck.”
She nodded, and together they slipped into the trees, the red light of the ruined mill fading behind them like a heartbeat gone still.
Branches whipped against her coat as she ran.
The forest swallowed the river’s noise; only the crunch of wet leaves and Adrian’s uneven breathing marked the path behind her. The moon kept slipping through the clouds, turning the trees into silhouettes that shifted and swayed.
“Keep left,” he whispered.
She followed, dodging roots slick with moss. Somewhere behind them, engines revved—then cut off. Voices shouted in a language she couldn’t catch. The hunters were on foot now.
Adrian stopped at a clearing where the trees thinned into a meadow. His face was pale, the bandage on his leg soaked through. “We’ll lose them in the fields,” he said.
“You can barely stand,” Nina hissed.
“I don’t need to stand. I need to move.”
He caught her hand, and they plunged through waist-high grass. Each blade was tipped with dew that turned to silver in the moonlight. Behind them came the distant snap of twigs, the sweep of flashlights.
Nina’s chest burned. She didn’t know how far they’d run, only that stopping meant capture—or worse.
At the far end of the meadow, a line of trees rose again, darker and denser. Adrian slowed, crouched low. “There’s a drainage tunnel ahead,” he whispered. “It runs under the old railway.”
“How do you know?”
“I built half the smuggler maps in this valley.”
They reached the tunnel mouth—a round concrete pipe half hidden by brush. The air pouring from it was cold and smelled of rust. Adrian motioned her inside first.
She crawled on hands and knees, water soaking through her jeans. The echo of their movements filled the narrow space. When she looked back, his flashlight beam flickered weakly behind her.
“You’re bleeding again,” she said.
“I’ve noticed.”
The sarcasm made her want to laugh and scream at once. “You’ll collapse.”
“Then I’ll collapse quietly.”