Maeve
Her knees gave out before she realized she'd stopped breathing. Strong hands caught her before she hit the dirt floor—Peak. His grip was steady, warm despite the chill that hung in the tunnel. "You with me?" he asked quietly.
She stared past him, her vision blurred. "I heard him."
"I know,” he breathed.
"He said—” She couldn’t quite say the words out loud for fear that they weren’t true.
"I know what he said."
Her chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. "I've been chasing ghosts."
Peak knelt in front of her, keeping one hand on her shoulder. "No." She finally looked at him. "He confirmed she survived."
The tears she'd refused to shed for over a year burned behind her eyes.
"I thought—” Her voice cracked. "God, I thought maybe she'd suffered for a little while before—" She couldn't finish.
Peak didn't interrupt. He didn't offer empty reassurances or tell her everything would be okay.
He simply stayed there, and for some reason, that helped more than words ever could.
After several minutes, she wiped her face with the heel of her hand. "I don't cry."
Peak's eyebrow lifted. "You literally just did."
"I meant usually,” she insisted. She let out a shaky laugh.
He stood and offered her a hand, and she took it.
The moment their fingers touched, something buzzed in the back of her mind.
Peak wasn't treating her like she was broken.
He wasn't walking on eggshells around her.
He was treating her like an equal who'd been knocked down and needed a hand getting back up. There was a difference—a big one.
"The call wasn't about scaring us," Peak said. She studied him, trying to figure out what he meant. "They wanted you to hear Wren was alive."
Her eyes widened when she realized what he was getting at. Maeve's stomach twisted. "They're manipulating me."
"They're trying to,” he countered.
"They've always tried to scare me.”
Peak started walking again, keeping the flashlight low. "They know you'll make mistakes if you're emotional."
She followed beside him. "I’ve already made so many mistakes."
"What mistakes have you made?" he asked.
"I came here, for one," she said, starting with her biggest mistake so far.
Peak looked over at her. "You think that was a mistake?"
"I brought death to your doorstep,” she reminded.
"You brought us information,” he insisted.
"I brought a war to your doorstep,” she countered.
He shook his head. "No, they declared war on the Grave Prowlers. There's a difference." She wasn't convinced of that, but she appreciated him saying it.
The tunnel widened as they continued down the dirt path. Old wooden support beams held up the earth overhead, and water trickled through cracks in the brick. The air smelled of salt and damp moss. Maeve traced one hand along the rough wall as they walked.
"My grandfather would've loved this,” she said.
Peak glanced at her. "Your grandfather liked old tunnels?"
"He restored old buildings. He used to drag Wren and me through abandoned churches." A faint smile touched her lips. "He'd spend hours talking about craftsmanship. Meanwhile, Wren and I were trying not to die from boredom."
Peak chuckled. "I take it you weren't history buffs."
"We were twelve,” she said. “Do you know many twelve-year-old girls who are history buffs?” she asked.
"That’s fair,” he agreed.
The smile faded almost as quickly as it appeared. "Wren used to carry a little flashlight."
Peak looked at her. "She was scared of the dark."
“We both are.” Maeve swallowed hard. "I lied to her. I told her monsters weren't real, but they are.” Silence settled between them. The words came out so softly she barely heard herself say them.
A few minutes later, the tunnel split into two and Peak stopped. "I don't remember this."
Maeve looked at the fork that separated the two tunnels. "Your clubhouse built the tunnel?"
"These tunnels were here long before the club was even established,” he said. He swept the flashlight down each passage. "The left goes toward the marsh."
"Where does the right go?” she asked.
He frowned. "I don't know."
Maeve crouched near the dirt floor. "What are you doing?"
She pointed to the dirt. "There are footprints." Peak knelt beside her. Someone had been there recently. There were fresh boot prints. They were large with military tread.
His jaw tightened. "That's impossible."
Maeve shook her head. "No, it’s not. They found the tunnel."
"They couldn't have,” he insisted.
She looked up at him. "They have drones, money, and probably bought old county maps." Peak cursed under his breath. Whoever they were hunting wasn't just prepared; they'd planned for every escape route.
She stood. "We can't go left."
Peak nodded. "They'll be waiting."
"Then we use the right tunnel," she said.
He shined the light into the darkness. "There are no footprints going in that direction."
"No disturbed dust, either,” she agreed.
"It looks like it hasn't been used in years,” he said.
Maeve met his gaze. "Which means they probably don't know it exists."
Peak smiled. “Smart girl,” he praised.
She couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped. For a few precious seconds, everything about her crazy life had felt almost normal until Peak's phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't an unknown number; it was Captain.
Peak answered immediately. "Talk to me."
Captain's breathing was ragged. "They're pulling back."
Peak frowned. “They’re retreating?"
"Looks that way,” Captain said.
“How many casualties are there?" Peak asked.
"We have two prospects down,” Captain said, and Maeve's heart sank. "They'll live,” Captain continued. “One brother caught a round in the shoulder."
Peak exhaled. "What about the attackers?"
"Three confirmed down, but others escaped,” Captain said.
Peak looked at Maeve. "They didn't come to win the war." Captain's voice hardened. "They came to send a message. Stay vigilant and call when you’re safe,” he ordered, and then ended the call.
Maeve stared at the dark tunnel stretching ahead. “I don’t think that they came here just to send a message," she said. Peak looked at her. "They came to confirm something."
"What do you think they needed to confirm?" he asked.
She took a slow breath. "They wanted to know if I'd found allies."
"And what do you think they found?" he asked.
She met his eyes. "Now, they know I have.
" The realization settled heavily between them.
The attack hadn't been about rescuing her.
It hadn't even been about killing her. It had been a test. The enemy had wanted to see how the Grave Prowlers would respond, and after watching a motorcycle club defend one woman with everything they had, the next attack wouldn't be a probe—it would be an execution.
Maeve followed Peak into the unexplored tunnel.
The beam from his flashlight cut through decades of darkness, illuminating thick cobwebs and rough stone walls that looked as though they hadn't seen another living soul in generations.
The tunnel was quieter than the first one, but it was too quiet.
Every drop of water echoed off the walls, and every footstep sounded unnaturally loud.
Peak walked a few feet ahead, one hand on his pistol, the flashlight steady in the other. He wasn't rushing anymore. Every few yards he stopped, listening for any movement. She understood why. Professionals didn't just attack—they anticipated their prey’s next move.
"You keep looking over your shoulder."
Peak didn't turn around. “I'm making sure nobody's behind us."
"No." She shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "You're looking for an ambush."
He smiled faintly. "Occupational hazard."
"I thought you fixed motorcycles,” she mumbled.
"I do,” he said.
"So where'd you learn to clear hallways?" That made him hesitate. "Are you military?" she guessed.
"No,” he said.
"Are you a cop?" she asked.
"No." She could tell that he was starting to get annoyed with her questioning him.
She frowned. "You don't move like a mechanic."
Peak finally looked back at her. "My grandfather believed every man should know how to protect his family."
"He taught you?" she asked.
"He hired people to teach me," Peak admitted.
She couldn't help smiling. "Rich grandfather, then?"
"Obscenely rich,” he grumbled.
"Do you come from old money?" she asked.
"Yep, the kind with embarrassing portraits of past generations hanging in the hallways,” he admitted.
Maeve laughed softly. "I would pay to see that."
"I burned one of them," he said, smiling fondly at the memory of doing so.
"You what?" she asked.
"I was twelve, and I set one of the paintings on fire. My grandfather never forgave me."
"You sound kind of proud about doing that," she said.
"I was." She giggled, but the laughter faded almost immediately. Peak stopped walking and crouched near the floor, running his flashlight across the dirt.
"What is it?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. "Dust,” he finally whispered. Maeve stepped closer. There was a clean line across the tunnel floor. It was perfectly straight—too straight. Someone had dragged something through there recently. Peak reached out and touched the dirt.
"It's fresh,” he whispered.
Her pulse quickened. "How fresh?"
"Within a day,” he said.
She looked farther down the passage. "Then someone knows this tunnel exits in the marsh."
Peak slowly stood. "Maybe."
"No." She pointed farther ahead. "Look." She spotted another mark, and this one was smaller and circular, as though something heavy had rested there.
Peak's eyes narrowed. "That mark was made by a tripod."
She looked at him. "You think?"
"I'm sure of it,” he said.
"Do you think maybe a survey crew made it?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, I don’t see any other construction markings. There’s no paint, and no measuring stakes." He looked farther into the darkness. "They were setting up equipment."
Her stomach dropped. "Do you think that they set up cameras?"
"No, worse,” he whispered. Peak extinguished the flashlight, and darkness swallowed them instantly.
"What are you doing?" she breathed.
"Listen,” he said, holding up his hand to quiet her. Maeve held her breath as she listened. At first, she heard nothing, but then she could hear a faint metallic clicking. It sounded rhythmic—almost mechanical, and it was coming from somewhere ahead.
She barely whispered. "What is that?"
Peak's jaw tightened. "I don't know." The clicking stopped and then came a soft electronic chirp.
Maeve felt the blood drain from her face. "It’s a motion sensor," she whispered.
Peak looked at her. "Are you sure?"
"I've installed enough of them,” she admitted.
"You installed security systems?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes, for my old contracts."
Peak muttered a curse. "So the tunnel isn't abandoned."
"No, I’m betting that it hasn't been for a while now. They have probably been using it to spy on the Grave Prowlers.”
He slowly backed them both against the wall. "If that's active—”
"They know we're here." She finished the thought.
"Unless—” Peak frowned.
"Unless what?" she asked.
"Unless the sensor isn't theirs,” he said.
She stepped forward carefully. "Give me the flashlight." He hesitated but then handed it over. Maeve swept the beam across the ceiling. Half-hidden beneath decades of dirt, she found a tiny black plastic unit that looked like a control panel of some type. Whatever it was, it looked old.
She smiled. "It isn't modern."
Peak looked relieved. "How do you know?"
She pointed up carefully. "It predates wireless networks."
"What does that mean?” he asked.
"It isn't transmitting anywhere or to anyone.” She pulled a small screwdriver from the inside of her boot.
Peak raised an eyebrow. "You carry tools in your boot?"
"I carry lots of things,” she admitted. Within seconds, she had the cover removed. The tiny green circuit board inside looked ancient, and she laughed.
"What’s so funny?" he asked.
"This thing's probably twenty-five years old,” she said. "It belongs to whoever built the tunnel."
Peak relaxed slightly. "Can you disable it?"
"I already did,” she said, snapping one tiny wire. The clicking stopped, and the tunnel fell silent again.
Peak stared at her. "So, how many tools do you carry around in your boot?"
"I told you,” she said. "I carry lots of things. You never know when you’ll need them.” He smiled at her. It wasn’t the almost-smile she'd seen before, but a real one. It transformed his entire face, making him look younger and less burdened.
"You enjoy this, don’t you?” he asked.
She blinked. "What exactly are we talking about here?"
"You like solving puzzles,” he said.
She looked down at the tiny circuit board. "I used to."
"What changed?" he asked.
Her smile disappeared. "They took my sister."
Peak nodded slowly. "I figured that was it."
"No." She carefully replaced the sensor housing exactly as she'd found it. "They didn't just take my sister. "They took—” She searched for the right word. “A part of me, too." Peak didn't argue, because he seemed to know exactly what she meant.
They rounded another bend, and the tunnel suddenly opened into a large underground chamber. Old wooden crates lined one wall, and rusted shelves filled another. At the far end stood a massive steel door, unlike everything else underground, because the door looked new—very new.
Maeve stopped walking. "So much for being abandoned." Peak slowly approached it and looked over the electronic keypad, and her pulse quickened.
"Somebody's been using this tunnel,” he said.
Maeve knelt beside the frame. “I think you’re right.”
"Why do you say that?” he asked.
"Because they are using it right now," she said, pointing to the concrete floor. There was a fresh muddy footprint that was still wet.
Peak instinctively drew his pistol. Maeve noticed that there wasn’t just one footprint, but dozens, and they were all leading in both directions.
Someone had been moving through this underground chamber within the last hour.
Peak and Maeve exchanged a look, and neither needed to say what they were both thinking.
The tunnel hadn't simply been discovered, but it had become part of the enemy's operation. And whatever lay beyond that steel door was important enough to hide beneath the Grave Prowler’s own territory.