Into the Dark (Part 1)
1124 Words
Elena Carter’s POV
Darkness swallowed everything.
Not the ordinary kind that came when the lights went out.
This darkness felt alive.
It pressed against my skin, stealing every familiar shape inside the bookstore. The comforting scent of old books vanished beneath the sharp smell of dust and splintered wood.
Somewhere close by, glass crunched beneath a shoe.
Someone cursed.
Another voice shouted, “Protect Mr. Hale!”
So…
Victor Hale.
At least now I knew the elegant stranger’s name.
Then a warm hand closed firmly around mine.
Strong.
Steady.
Calloused.
It wasn’t a desperate grip.
It was practiced—as though the owner had pulled people out of danger countless times before.
A deep voice spoke close to my ear.
“Don’t make a sound.”
My pulse leaped.
It was him.
The wounded man from the alley.
Adrian.
He guided me backward with surprising speed, weaving through bookshelves I could no longer see. Every movement was precise, almost effortless, while chaos erupted only a few feet away.
A loud crash echoed through the shop.
“They’re heading for the back!”
“Search every room!”
“No one leaves!”
Heavy footsteps thundered across the wooden floor.
The stranger beside me didn’t hesitate.
He pushed gently against my shoulder.
I stumbled backward.
Instead of striking a wall, I fell through empty space.
A staircase.
The hidden passage Evelyn had revealed.
Adrian followed immediately behind me, pulling a heavy wooden panel shut just as flashlight beams swept across the opening above.
Darkness returned.
Only this time…
It was silent.
The staircase spiraled downward.
Stone walls replaced polished wood.
The air became cooler with every step.
Ancient.
Damp.
Almost forgotten.
I could barely see Adrian in front of me, only the faint outline of his broad shoulders.
He stopped after several metres.
A soft click.
A tiny flashlight flickered to life in his hand.
Its narrow beam illuminated a tunnel stretching into the distance.
Brick walls.
Arched ceiling.
Iron pipes running overhead.
It looked less like a secret passage and more like part of an abandoned underground railway.
I stared.
“What is this place?”
“The old city.”
“What?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“London has been rebuilt many times.”
His voice remained calm despite everything happening above us.
“Most people only know the streets they can see.”
“You use underground tunnels?”
“When necessary.”
That wasn’t an answer.
It was the first of many things I suspected he wasn’t telling me.
For several moments neither of us spoke.
Only our footsteps echoed through the tunnel.
The silence gave me my first real chance to study him.
He was taller than I’d realized.
Well over six feet.
His black coat was soaked from the rain, clinging to broad shoulders that spoke of strength rather than vanity.
Dark hair fell untidily across his forehead.
His jaw was sharp.
His face impossibly composed.
Except…
His left hand.
It remained pressed against his side.
Blood seeped steadily between his fingers.
“You’ve reopened your wound.”
He didn’t even glance down.
“I know.”
“We need a hospital.”
“No.”
“You’ve been shot.”
“I noticed.”
Despite myself, irritation replaced fear.
“You could die.”
He finally stopped walking.
Turning toward me, he met my eyes.
The flashlight cast long shadows across his face, making his expression almost unreadable.
“If I walk into a hospital tonight…”
he said quietly,
“…I won’t walk out.”
The certainty in his voice left no room for argument.
Who was this man?
What kind of life made a hospital more dangerous than bleeding to death?
He resumed walking.
“I’m sorry.”
The words escaped before I realized I was speaking.
He glanced back.
“For what?”
“I couldn’t save you properly.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
“You tried.”
“I froze.”
“You survived.”
“I almost got you killed.”
A surprising smile touched one corner of his mouth.
“It takes considerably more than tonight to kill me.”
Something about the confidence in that statement unsettled me.
It wasn’t arrogance.
It was experience.
Five minutes later the tunnel widened into an enormous underground chamber.
I stopped walking.
It looked like a forgotten station.
Stone platforms.
Rusted railway tracks.
Old benches covered in dust.
A cracked clock forever frozen at 11:17.
Beautiful.
Haunting.
“What is this?”
“Kingsgate Station.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You’re not supposed to.”
He walked toward a rust-covered maintenance door.
Only then did I notice something odd.
There wasn’t a single speck of dust on the door handle.
Someone used this place.
Often.
Adrian entered a six-digit code into a concealed keypad.
The heavy steel door unlocked with a mechanical hiss.
Electric lights flickered on automatically.
I blinked.
Behind the door wasn’t another abandoned tunnel.
It was…
An apartment.
Modern.
Elegant.
Warmly lit.
Books lined one wall.
Computer monitors covered another.
A fireplace crackled softly near a leather sofa.
The contrast was so absurd that I simply stood there staring.
“You live here?”
“Sometimes.”
“This place is beneath an abandoned railway station.”
“Exactly.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“You actually planned for this.”
“I plan for most things.”
His answer came so naturally that I wasn’t sure whether he was joking.
I didn’t think he was.
As the door sealed behind us, Adrian finally removed his hand from his side.
Blood immediately soaked through his white shirt.
The wound was worse than I’d imagined.
He took one step.
Then another.
His balance faltered.
“Adrian!”
I caught his arm just before he collapsed.
For the first time since I’d met him…
The cold, composed stranger allowed himself to lean against someone else.
Only slightly.
Only for a second.
But it was enough for me to realize something important.
The man everyone seemed to fear…
Was barely still standing.
He looked at me, breathing harder than before.
“There’s a medical kit…”
His voice grew weaker.
“…second cabinet…”
He reached into his coat pocket with trembling fingers and placed a sleek black wallet in my hand.
“If…”
He paused, fighting to remain conscious.
“…if I pass out…”
I frowned.
“Don’t talk like that.”
He ignored me.
“Whatever happens…”
His grey eyes locked onto mine.
“…don’t let anyone know who I am.”
Before I could ask what he meant…
His knees gave way.
And Adrian Blackwood collapsed unconscious into my arms.
- Writer
