45. Take A Walk – Hazel
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
TAKE A WALK
HAZEL
The door isn’t really a door.
It’s a seam that shouldn’t exist, a line in the concrete that only shows itself when you stop believing the room is what it’s pretending to be.
Zack pries it open with controlled force, metal screaming softly in protest, and a breath of colder air spills out like the building has been holding it back on purpose.
Stairs descend into the dark, and though everything in my soul is telling me that this is bad news, I know better than to go against my gut—so we walk in anyway.
My heart stutters, expect it’s not with fear, but with certainty. This is it. The feeling settles deep and solid in my chest, the kind that doesn’t ask questions anymore, the kind that knows that this little path of life is coming to a close.
Zack goes first—because of course he does—his body already angled to shield me if he has to, protecting me like I know he would.
Even if it means something is going to happen, it’s going to happen to him first. I follow close behind, one hand brushing the wall, the other clenched tight around the flashlight.
The steps are narrow, uneven, the concrete damp under my boots.
The further down we go, the quieter the world becomes, like sound itself is being swallowed.
The space at the bottom is small. A room carved out of necessity rather than design, lit by a single exposed bulb that hums faintly overhead. The smell hits me first—stale air, sweat, something chemical and sharp that makes my eyes sting.
And then I see them.
Leyla is sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest, hair tangled and shorter than I remember, barely above her chin, eyes sunken but burning bright with disbelief.
Cameron is beside her, one arm curled protectively around her shoulders, his posture stiff and defensive even in exhaustion.
They both look thinner. Older. Like time has pressed down on them hard and refused to let up.
For a second, none of us move.
Then Leyla’s breath catches, her eyes blinking a couple times as if not truly believing that we’re really here.
“Hazel?” she whispers, like she’s afraid saying my name too loudly will make me disappear. I drop to my knees before I realize I’m moving, the flashlight clattering uselessly to the floor as emotion crashes through me so fast it steals my breath.
“Oh my God,” I choke out. “You’re alive.”
Leyla breaks. She scrambles forward on shaking legs and collapses into me, arms wrapping tight around my neck as she sobs; the sound raw, and unfiltered, and devastating.
I hold her without thinking, rocking us both, my own eyes burning as relief, and horror, and joy tangle together into something I can’t separate.
“I thought—” she gasps. “I thought we were never getting out of here…”
“You are,” I say fiercely, pressing my forehead to hers. “We’ve got you. We’re here.”
Behind us, Zack is already at work, snapping restraints and checking Cameron’s wrists with quick, efficient movements that somehow still manage to be gentle. Cameron lets out a shaky breath he’s probably been holding for months.
“Took you long enough,” he mutters hoarsely.
Zack huffs a humorless laugh. “You always were impatient.”
The sound does something to me—grounds me, reminds me this is real. That this isn’t another cruel trick of hope.
Leyla pulls back just enough to look at me, hands still gripping my arms like she needs proof I’m solid. Her eyes search my face desperately. “She said—” Her voice trembles. “She said you were supposed to die.”
The words land like a blade.
“She?” My stomach twists, but I keep my voice steady. “She failed.”
Leyla nods sharply, something fierce flashing through her fear. Cameron squeezes her shoulder, leaning his forehead against hers for a brief moment, silent reassurance passing between them. We still don’t know who’s all behind this, but now truly isn’t the time for any of this.
“We need to move,” Zack says quietly. “Now.”
I nod, helping Leyla to her feet, keeping an arm wrapped around her when her knees wobble. She leans into me like she’s memorizing the feeling of support, like she’s afraid the ground will disappear again if she lets go.
As we turn toward the stairs, something prickles at the back of my neck.
The room feels…watched.
I shake it off, telling myself it’s just adrenaline, just the echo of everything that’s happened. We found them. That’s what matters. We’re getting out. That’s all that matters.
None of us see the camera tucked high in the corner, its lens blinking softly as it adjusts to the movement below.
None of us hear the distant door above slide open.
And none of us realize that while we’re holding onto relief with both hands, The Whispering Killer is already on their way; silent, patient, and very close.