Page 187 of Reverie

Something skitters across the ground, and in my attempt to sidestep it, organic matter squishes beneath my foot. The space is dark and dank, heavy with the smell of moisture and mildew, and I bite back a curse as an unseen animal hisses at me.

Get this done. Get back to Winter. Get this done. Get back to Winter.

I repeat the mantra for the next several heartbeats until I hear two separate voices near the center of the caverns. From memory, I know that right past them is the main meeting area—the one where I saw Luna all those years ago.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I lift my weapon just as a familiar scream rents the air—everything within me crashes into the other as pure terror skates down my spine.

Winter. Winter is—Winter ishere.

With a strangled breath, I face the guards, popping off two bullets in the time it takes to blink. They drop to the ground with a near-silentthud.

I spin in the center space where five different tunnels come to a juncture—turning, turning—and then another scream rents the air.

“Fuck, Winter,” I rasp, feeling like I’m dying.

Not this time.

Lifting my gun again, I prepare to slaughter anyone who stands in the way of me and my wife.

I sprint down the corridor that I know leads to the meeting area, which also is the direction Winter’s voice comes from.

Hold on, Sunbeam….

Reaching the entrance in under a minute, I assess the tall, metal door, pulling on it before slamming my shoulder into it.

One more scream.

Another.

Another.

And then I hear the most terrifying sound of my life: the rapidpop-pop-popof gunfire on the other side.

Fuck this.

I point the gun at the lock, blasting it apart with one bullet.

“Winter, where are you!” I shout, scanning and screaming and not at all caring about any of this shit if Winter is here and in danger.

My only goal is to get her out of here and never leave her side ever again.

I shouldn’t have come.

I think about all the innocent lives we’re saving tonight, and all the evil we’ll stop. I try to latch onto it—let it fuel me.

But nothing tops the horror, rage, and pure terror I feel knowing that Winter isn’t safe.

I skid to a stop when I reach the center of the meeting area. It’s unchanged from when I was last here decades ago, and the dark platform in the center of the room provides a clear view of the theater-style rows of seats surrounding it.

A single spotlight illuminates the round stage, and I step toward it.

“Brigham.” My head and gun snap up, searching for the voice in the darkness. After a few invisible footfalls, Marcus Law comes into view.

His face gives nothing away—completely flat. So I keep my gun trained on him as he comes to a stop five feet away from the end of my firearm.