Eliot pressed his finger on the concrete wall, counting each pipe, each bolt—just like he had rehearsed priorly. “Left vent leads to the sewer drop,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the drip of water and the thudding of his heart. “We’re almost there.” Behind him, Rafe crouched low. Dirt smudged his jawline, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. But his eyes—those stormy, guarded eyes—never left Eliot. “You sure about this?” Rafe asked. “One wrong turn and we’re done for”
Comments
1Ace ⚜️
Creator
26/04/2025