THE COLLAPSE OF KILSYTH

​POV: Jarrah

​The ground didn't just shake; it groaned a sickening, grinding sound of ancient granite shearing under impossible pressure. High above our heads, inside the hidden cavities of Kilsyth Manor's foundation, the heavy explosive charges Alastair had set years ago were detonating in a pre-programmed, catastrophic cascade.

​Dust rained down from the concrete ceiling of the cell, dropping in thick grey sheets that instantly obscured the dim overhead light.

​"Jarrah!" Malia gasped, her small hands clutching tightly at my shoulders.

​I looked down at her. Her face was pale beneath the grime, her dark eyes wide with sudden terror, but she wasn't panicking. She was looking at me, trusting me completely with her life. That trust felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, fiercer and more consuming than any danger around us.

​"Hold onto me," I snapped, my voice harsh with authority as I dragged her upward into a crouch. "Whatever happens, Malia, do not let go."

​A massive stone block peeled away from the ceiling directly above the cell doorway, crashing down with a sound like a cannon blast. Dust and sharp gravel sprayed across the room, stinging my bare neck. The light bulb overhead flickered wildly once, twice, and then exploded in a shower of tiny sparks, plunging the cell into near-total darkness, illuminated only by the reddish glow of the emergency strip lighting in the corridor outside.

​I stood up, pulling Malia with me. She swayed, her bare feet slipping on the slick concrete, but I caught her beneath the arms, pulling her body flush against mine. Her iron-bound wrists were pinned between our chests, the cold metal biting into my skin, but I didn't feel it. All I felt was her heart hammering frantically against my ribs.

​"We have to go. Now!"

​I didn't waste a bullet on Alastair. The crumbling ceiling was already doing the work for us; a jagged slab of masonry caved in directly over the far corner, smothering his gasping laughter beneath tons of broken stone and mortar.

​I turned, shielding Malia's head with my left arm, hugging her tightly against my ribcage while holding my pistol ready in my right hand. We stumbled out of the cell and into the collapsing subterranean corridor.

​The hall was a nightmare of dust, fallen mortar, and flying stone. Support beams were snapping like dry twigs under the weight of the mansion above, the structural integrity of the estate collapsing inward like a dying house of cards.

​"This way!" I shouted over the deafening roar of grinding earth.

​I knew the layout of the lower levels. The main stairwell was gone, already choked with tons of debris, but deep behind the dungeon sector lay the old drainage channels, built in the nineteenth century to carry runoff down into the subterranean river system beneath the cliffs.

​Malia stumbled, her feet catching on a fallen beam. "Jarrah"

​Before she could hit the stone, I caught her, scooping her up into my arms. She let out a soft breath, her arms wrapping tight around my neck, her face burying itself into the curve of my collarbone.

​"I've got you," I grunted, taking the weight of her easily despite the rough terrain.

​Running with her in my arms while the world fell apart around us was pure adrenaline and instinct. A heavy ceiling joist came crashing down right in front of us, showering us with rotten wood and plaster. I twisted my body around in mid-stride, turning my back to the impact to take the force of the falling debris myself.

​A heavy piece of masonry clipped my right shoulder blade. A sharp bolt of agony shot down my spine, but I barely registered it. I tucked Malia closer, pressing her small frame under my body, absorbing every blow, every flying shrapnel piece so that not a single splinter touched her skin.

​"Jarrah, you're hit!" she cried against my ear, feeling my body tense.

​"I'm fine," I growled through gritted teeth, pushing forward through the blinding cloud of limestone dust. "Stay down!"

​We burst through a set of heavy iron double doors at the end of the hall just as the corridor behind us collapsed entirely in a thunderous roar of stone and earth. The shockwave of displaced air blew us forward, knocking us through the threshold and down a steep, slick incline of stone steps.

​We tumbled down the last few steps, rolling across a damp, slippery rock ledge.

​I rolled immediately onto my back, taking the impact against the rock, keeping Malia cradled safely on top of my chest.

​When the roar of the collapse settled into a low, echoing rumble in the distance, the silence that followed was heavy and cold. The air here was vastly different damp, freezing, and carrying the distinct, heavy smell of rushing black water.

​I opened my eyes. We were in a vast, subterranean cavern. Far below the ledge we were lying on, a thick, black river churned violently, its dark current rushing toward the deep unknown.

​Malia lifted her head off my chest. Her face was inches from mine. In the faint blue light echoing up from the subterranean water, her eyes searched my face fearful, raw, but filled with an intensity that burned straight through me.

​"Jarrah," she whispered, her lips trembling. "You saved me."

​My hand moved up of its own accord, my fingers tracing the line of her jaw, sweeping away a streak of black dust from her skin. "I told you," I murmured, my voice raspy and low, "I will always come for you."

​Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and for a fraction of a second, the distance between our mouths dissolved to nothing. The air between us was electric, pulled tight with a desperate, unspoken hunger that had survived the flames.

​Then, behind us, the cavern roof began to crack.