“Watch your head,” Pinkerton warned the professor as the floor clicked back down into place, a clear square of untouched bone gravel discernible where Brennan had stood.
“Where’s Mister Brennan?” Teddy asked, looking up the faint candle flicker in the hatch.
“Brennan!” Laurel called up at the ceiling.
Brennan heard Laurel’s voice come through the hatch but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work. The match went out, burning the tips of his fingers. Light from the hatch flickered off the slick pitch of the walls and he could make out the dark silhouettes of heads and hands turning towards him.
“Brennan,” he heard.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, Brennan,” said the voice, the same as before, in his mind but slightly mocking in tone.
“Are these things what I think they are?”
