Chapter 70: Sewer Sprint

Without waiting for permission—not that I’d ever ask—I grabbed the valve and yanked. The metal groaned in protest before snapping free, the whole panel clattering to the floor with a satisfying clang.

Behind it, nestled in a small hollow compartment, was a bundle of parchment tied with twine. My grin spread slowly, wickedly, until I could feel it aching in my cheeks.

“Hello, beautiful,” I whispered, sliding the bundle free. The paper was damp but intact, the faint outline of ink visible beneath the grime.

Dregan leaned in. “Is that—?”

“The map,” I said. “Or one hell of a love letter. Either way, I’m thrilled.”

He chuckled. “Knew I was right to tag along. You always get the good loot.” In that very instant, his laughter died in his throat. His eyes went wide, ears straining as his body froze still. “Wait…you hear that?”

And sure thing, there it was—a low, tremulous rumble, like the earth clearing its throat. Then came the vibration, a subtle quiver through the soles of my boots that quickly built into something far less polite.

I froze, parchment still clutched in one hand, my grin faltering as the echo deepened into a rolling thunder that seemed to crawl its way up the tunnel walls.

For a heartbeat, Dregan and I just stood there, heads tilted like a pair of idiots trying to remember if we’d left the stove on. Then the unmistakable hiss of rushing water reached us—fast, angry, and growing louder by the second.

I blinked. “Oh, splendid. The tunnel’s decided to flush itself.”

Dregan’s eyes went wide, the cigar falling from his mouth into the filthy puddle below. Then, in perfect unison, we said:

“Run.”

And so we did.

We ran like sinners late for judgment, like debtors spotting their creditors at the bar, like lovers sprinting from a bad decision that hadn’t even finished taking its clothes off yet.

The lantern swung wildly in Dregan’s hand, scattering golden light across the walls as we pelted down the narrow tunnel. Behind us, the rumble became a roar, a living, snarling thing that wanted nothing more than to swallow us whole.

My boots slipped once, twice, before finding purchase. “Oh, for the love of sainted syphilis!” I snarled. Behind me, Dregan barked a laugh between gasps.

“Graceful as ever!” he wheezed.

“Keep talking and I’ll trip you just to see if you bounce!” I shot back.

We rounded a corner then so sharp it nearly flung us both against the wall. I could see it then, the ladder was ahead—a thin, rusted promise of salvation gleaming faintly in the lantern’s trembling light.

“There!” I yelled, pointing.

“After you!” Dregan coughed, already heaving for breath.

“Don’t mind if I do!”

I sprinted the last stretch, leapt for the ladder, and caught the first rung in a spray of filthy water. My muscles screamed, but I climbed fast—faster than I’d ever thought possible, my heart hammering in my throat as the roar behind me grew nearly deafening.

Halfway up, I glanced down. Dregan was still running hard, his face twisted in sheer effort. Behind him came the wave—massive, black, and merciless.

“Faster!” I yelled. “It’s right behind you!”

“I’d go faster if you didn’t hog all the adrenaline!”

“Less talking, more surviving!”

The map—our precious, fragile prize—was slick in my grip, and for one horrifying instant, I imagined it slipping free, lost to the flood. But no. Not after all that. In one frantic motion, I stuffed it into my mouth without thinking, tasting mold, rot, and triumph all at once.

It was disgusting. I didn’t care.

“Dregan!” I screamed, reaching down with one hand, voice muffled through the parchment. “Jump!”

He didn’t hesitate.

With one final sprint, he launched himself from the ground—arms outstretched. The water hit him midair, slamming into his legs, but momentum carried him forward. Our hands met with a wet slap, and for one terrible moment, we both hung suspended—gravity and doom fighting over who got the final say.

Then I pulled.

Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I hauled him upward. Dregan gasped, clutching the rung just beneath me as the flood crashed past, roaring down some unseen exit further below.

We clung there, panting, dripping, half-blind from the spray. The echo of the water faded slowly, replaced by the slight dripping of what little remained.

Finally, Dregan wheezed a laugh. “You,” he rasped, “owe me… a new cigar.”

I spat the map from my mouth and wiped my face with the back of my hand. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He looked up at me, grin half-crazed, hair plastered to his forehead. “For what?”

“For saving your life,” I said sweetly, climbing another rung. “And for not letting you drown in what I’m fairly certain was ninety percent piss.”

“Truly, you’re a saint,” he muttered, following after me.

By the time we reached the top, my arms felt like molten lead. The beastman was there, crouched by the opening, eyes wide and alert. The moment he saw us, he reached down and grabbed the collar of Dregan’s shirt, hauling him out like a sack of laundry before extending a hand to me.

I took it without hesitation.

“Remind me,” Dregan wheezed from the floor, sprawled out like a drowned cat, “why we couldn’t send Brutus for this?”

“Because he’s too noble to crawl through sewage,” I said, collapsing beside him. “And too tall. We’d still be waiting for his shoulders to fit through the hatch.”

The beastman sniffed us both then, wrinkled his nose, and huffed. I waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I know. We smell divine. You’re welcome.” I paused for a moment. “Now then, seal it up.”

Without hesitation, he dragged the obsidian statue back into place, setting it over the hole as if it weighed nothing. The poor prisoners still tending the dead garden scrambled out of the way in terror.

“See?” I said to Dregan as I stood up to stretch, heading back toward the alleyways without pause. “Nothing like some light vandalism before lunch.”

He laughed, trailing after me. “You’re the only person I know who treats felony like foreplay.”

“Compliment accepted,” I said.

The journey back through the courtyard was a blur of sound and scent—the clatter of boots, the hiss of steam, the distant shouts of guards. My pulse still thrummed from the discovery, from the thrill of knowing what we carried. I could practically taste the shift in power that this parchment would bring.

When we finally reached the warehouse, I pushed the doors open with a flourish worthy of an opera house. Inside, chaos reigned.

Brutus stood at the center, barking orders in his gravelly baritone. The room was a hive of motion—prisoners rushing about, stacking supplies, sorting themselves into clusters under the supervision of the other drug lords.

Even Freya helped out, arms crossed, scowling as she directed a group near the back. It was like watching a colony of ants, if ants smoked, swore, and occasionally stabbed each other.

I loved it.

“Busy little bees,” I said aloud, stepping inside. No one noticed me at first—too absorbed in their scurrying. I could’ve stood there basking, but where’s the fun in subtlety?

I sauntered up to the central table, slapped the damp bundle of parchment down, and unrolled it with a dramatic flick of my wrist. The edges flared out across the metal, revealing the inked sprawl of tunnels, markings, and notes in faded red.

“Found our miracle,” I announced.

Brutus froze mid-command, his head whipping toward me. His expression went from irritation to disbelief to something dangerously close to awe.

“Well damn—you actually found it,” he said, his voice low and incredulous.

I leaned against the table, resting my chin on the back of my hand, smiling like sin given flesh. “Of course I did,” I purred. “I’m very good at finding things people lose—maps, secrets, patience.”

Dregan leaned in beside me. “And corpses, don’t forget corpses.”

I shot him a sideways grin. “Why of course.”

Brutus stepped closer then, his hands flattening against the table as he stared down at the map. Around him, the noise of the room began to die—one by one, the others turned, drawn by curiosity. The chaos dimmed into murmurs, and all eyes turned to us.

I let the silence stretch, savoring the tension like a fine wine, then finally straightened and said in my sweetest tone, “Well then, ladies and gentlemen… it looks like our way out of hell just opened for business.”

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