Chapter 11 Nightingale #2
“I already read through the files on the flight over,” Vanguard said, tapping his tablet when Tag returned, scowling worse than when he’d left. “I’m up to speed.”
“Great,” I said when Tag didn’t appear to have heard him.
The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of final preparations.
Vanguard gravitated toward me, asking questions about what we’d found during our previous searches.
His attention was flattering, his interest genuine, and every moment of conversation between us hurt because Tag was across the room, pretending not to watch.
We loaded our gear into packs—torches, rope, chalk for marking passages, radios, water, emergency rations in case we got turned around underground. The physical tasks kept my hands busy and gave me something to focus on besides the man who was so often the center of my attention.
“Ready?” Tag asked when we’d finished, addressing us without glancing in our direction.
I shouldered my pack, feeling the weight settle against my back. “Ready.”
Vanguard did the same.
“This way,” Tag said, leading us out of the castle and across the grounds.
The morning air was cold enough to see our breath, and the sky was heavy with clouds.
We followed Tag to a stone outbuilding with walls covered in ivy that had been recently cleared away, that appeared to have once been a stable or storage shed.
He pulled the heavy wooden door open, revealing stone steps descending into darkness. He clicked his torch on, and its beam cut through the shadows, illuminating rough-hewn walls.
“Comms check,” he said in a clipped voice. “Nightingale?”
“Check.”
“Vanguard?”
“Check.”
Tag nodded once, then started down the steps.
I took one last look at the sky before descending below Glenshadow. One last breath of cold morning air before entering the labyrinth where I’d be trapped underground with Tag and the man he thought I wanted instead.
The stone steps curved downward, and the light from above faded behind us.
The temperature dropped as we descended, and the air grew damp and heavy with the smell of earth and old stone.
At the bottom of the steps, the passageway split into four directions like spokes on a wheel. Tag pulled out one of the maps, though we all knew it wouldn’t help much.
“We split up here. Nightingale, you take north. Vanguard, east. I’ll cover west and south. Mark your path with chalk every twenty meters, and check in every ten minutes. If you find anything—recent activity, hidden openings, anything unusual—call it in right away.”
“What if we hit a dead end?” Vanguard asked, adjusting the strap on his pack.
“Mark it and backtrack. Try the next branch.” Tag’s gaze swept over us, avoiding lingering on me. “Given the complexity of what we might discover, we could be down here for hours, so pace yourselves. Don’t go farther than two hundred meters without reporting in.”
I pulled out my chalk and checked my torch battery one more time.
“Remain alert,” Tag added. “There’s a chance we aren’t the only ones down here.”
The thought should have unsettled me more than it did, but right now, the prospect of encountering hostiles felt less dangerous than spending another moment standing where I was pretending I was fine.
“Move out,” Tag ordered.
I headed north as instructed. Light bounced off walls that narrowed and widened unpredictably. The ceiling dropped low enough in places that I had to duck, and water seeped through the stone, leaving mineral deposits in a line to the floor.
The silence was absolute except for my footsteps and breathing. No wind, no distant sounds from above, just the heavy quiet of earth and stone pressing in from all sides. However, for the first time since last night, I could breathe without feeling like my chest was caught in a vise.
Down here, I didn’t have to keep up the pretense of Tag not mattering to me.
I marked my path with chalk—a simple X every twenty meters. The route branched twice, and I chose the left fork both times, following the slight downward slope that suggested the direction I followed might connect to the lower levels near the loch.
My radio crackled. “Comms check. Nightingale?”
“Copy. Heading north-northwest, approximately sixty meters in. Two branches, no signs of recent activity.”
“Copy that. Vanguard?”
“East corridor, eighty meters. Found some old smugglers’ marks on the walls, but nothing present-day.”
“Copy. Next check in ten. Out.”
The radio went silent again, and I continued deeper into the darkness. The route opened into a wider chamber, maybe four meters across, with three new branches. I swept my light across the space, looking for any indication of which way to go.
That’s when I saw it—a scuff mark in the dust on the floor.
Recent, at least from this century, judging by the sharp edges where someone’s boot had disturbed centuries of settled grime.
I knelt down, examining the mark more closely.
The tread was modern, the kind you’d see on combat boots, not the smooth soles of hiking boots or casual footwear.
My pulse kicked up. Someone had been down here, and not long ago.
I was reaching for my radio when light spilled into the chamber from the eastern branch.
“Nightingale?” Vanguard’s voice echoed off the stone. “That you?”
“Here.” I stood as he emerged, his beam sweeping across the space before landing on me. “I found something. A boot print in the dust. Recent.”
He crossed to where I was standing, and bent to examine the mark. He straightened, following the direction the print was heading. “Looks like they went that way.”
He pointed to the narrowest of the three options. I marked the chamber with chalk and the boot print’s location, taking a photo with my mobile.
“Should we follow it?” he asked, already moving toward the opening.
“We should call it in first.” I reached for my radio, but before I could key it, Tag’s voice came through.
“Status check. Anyone have anything?”
“Nightingale here. I found signs of recent activity. A boot print.”
“Copy that. I’ve got a lock on your position, and I’m on my way.”
“We could—” Vanguard began, but I shook my head.
“We’ll hold our position until Tag arrives.”
Vanguard nodded, though I could see the eagerness in his expression—the same look every operative got when they found something that might turn into a lead.
The wait felt eternal, though it was probably only five minutes before Tag’s beam cut through the darkness. He emerged into the chamber, his gaze going first to the boot print, then to me and Vanguard standing too close together in the confined space.
His jaw tightened. “Good catch,” he muttered before squatting near the print. When he stood, his eyes finally met mine. “This way,” he said, motioning in the same direction Vanguard had a few minutes ago.
The walls pressed closer the farther we went, forcing us into single file. Behind me, I could hear Vanguard’s steady breathing.
Tag’s light caught another scuff mark, then another before the passage curved sharply left. There, it dropped down a series of rough-cut steps. The air grew colder still.
We continued down until we emerged into a cavern that opened up before us like a cathedral carved from living rock. Natural limestone stretched overhead, and stalactites hung from a high ceiling that disappeared into the shadows.
And on the far side, barely visible in the reach of our lights, was a door.
It appeared modern, steel-reinforced, and completely out of place in this ancient space.
Someone had been down here for more than a walk-through, and they’d gone to hide whatever was behind the door.