Calculated Risks

The silence stretched after Liam's whispered promise, broken only by the faint hum of old electricity in the walls around me and the frantic thudding of my own heart. Every distant clang or drip from the tunnel outside sent a fresh jolt of panic through me. Was it Julian returning? Or worse, Dean Vance herself, moving through the hidden ways with chilling efficiency?

My ankle throbbed, a constant, agonizing reminder of my vulnerability. I leaned my head back against the cool metal conduits, trying to breathe evenly, trying to trust Liam. He was taking an enormous risk. Using a tracking device on Julian Ashworth was practically suicidal if discovered. Alerting me, planning an escape – he was putting himself directly in the line of fire. Why? Guilt over Maya? Loyalty to the cryptic mission of the History Club? Or just basic human decency fighting against the systemic evil of this place?

Minutes crawled by like hours. I strained my ears, listening for Liam's return, for any sign of approaching danger. The darkness felt absolute, pressing in, populated only by the ghosts of Eleanor's fear and my own rising desperation.

I unfolded Eleanor's map again, studying it under the weak beam of my flashlight. The path Liam mentioned, leading towards the kitchens, was clearly marked, branching off the main tunnel not far from my hiding place. It looked like a series of smaller service shafts and crawlspaces, eventually emerging behind a disused pantry on the ground floor, near the East Wing dining annex. A route clearly designed for stealth, avoiding main corridors.

The owl symbol marking the History Club's basement access was further along, a more complex route involving ventilation shafts. That wasn't feasible tonight, not injured and hunted. The kitchen route was the only chance.

Finally, a faint scratching sound came from the metal door, followed by the coded tap: Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

"Jones?" Liam's whisper was barely audible. "Coast is clear for now. Can you move?"

"Yes," I whispered back, relief making my voice hoarse. "Ankle's bad, but I can manage."

Carefully, I pushed the heavy door open. Liam stood there, pale and anxious in the dim light filtering from his own small flashlight. He carried a small backpack, and his eyes darted nervously up and down the tunnel.

"Okay, quickly," he urged, offering me a hand. "The tunnel branches off just ahead. It gets tight in places."

Leaning heavily on him, I hobbled out of the cramped junction box. The main tunnel seemed ominously silent now. Liam swept his flashlight beam around, checking the shadows.

"Did you… see anyone else?" I asked.

"No," he shook his head. "But the sensors near the main sub-basement access showed movement shortly after Ashworth went up. Could be security doing a sweep, could be worse. We can't linger."

He led me down the tunnel, moving with surprising speed and confidence despite his obvious fear. He clearly knew these hidden ways better than I'd realized. The History Club wasn't just about research; they were actively exploring and mapping the academy's underbelly.

We reached the branch indicated on Eleanor's map. It was another low opening, almost hidden behind a cluster of large-diameter pipes. Liam squeezed through first, then helped me navigate the awkward entrance, biting back a cry as pain shot up my leg.

This new tunnel was narrower, dustier, clearly less traveled than the main service corridor. We moved single file, Liam leading the way, his flashlight beam dancing ahead. We passed through sections that were barely crawlspaces, forcing us onto hands and knees, aggravating my injured ankle terribly. Other sections opened into small junctions with multiple branching pipes, where Liam consulted a small, laminated map he pulled from his pocket – a more detailed version of Eleanor's sketch.

"The Club has been mapping these for years," he explained in a low voice, sensing my question. "Trying to understand the school's layout, find safe passages, identify… points of interest. Ritual sites. Weak points in their wards."

"And Maya?" I asked, my voice tight. "Was she part of this?"

Liam hesitated, his flashlight beam faltering for a second. "She… was interested," he admitted reluctantly. "Very smart. Figured things out quickly. Too quickly, maybe. She thought she found something important down here, something connected to the disappearances. Went off on her own to investigate, near the solstice, five years ago." He swallowed hard. "Never came back. We think Ashworth's father, or maybe Dean Vance herself back then, caught her."

Guilt radiated from him. They knew she was taking risks, knew she was onto something, but hadn't stopped her, hadn't protected her. Maybe that's why he was helping me now. Atonement.

We reached another ventilation shaft, similar to the one I'd descended earlier, but smaller. "This leads up," Liam said. "Directly behind the old pantry off the East Wing kitchen access corridor. Should be deserted this time of night. But we have to assume Vance might have anticipated this route."

He produced a small electronic device from his backpack, flicking a switch. A tiny screen flickered to life, showing static, then resolving into a blurry, black-and-white image. "Miniature camera," he whispered. "Slipped it under the pantry door earlier this semester. Let's see…"

He peered at the screen. "Okay… corridor looks clear. No immediate sign of anyone waiting." He clipped the device back onto his pack. "Standard procedure – I go up first, secure the exit. Give me two minutes. If I don't signal," he tapped out the code rhythm on his hand, "assume it's compromised. Find another way. Understand?"

I nodded, my mouth dry. "Be careful, Liam."

He gave a curt nod, his face grim, and started climbing the narrow ladder embedded in the shaft wall, disappearing into the darkness above.

I waited in the cramped tunnel below, every second stretching into an eternity. The silence was absolute, broken only by the drip of unseen water. My ankle throbbed. My mind raced. What if Julian was waiting up there? What if Dean Vance, with her cold eyes and unnatural calm, anticipated this exact escape route mapped by her predecessor?

Exactly two minutes later, a faint sound echoed from the top of the shaft.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

The all-clear.

Relief warred with apprehension. The next stage was beginning. Reaching the relative safety of the ground floor corridors didn't mean escape. It just meant entering a different, more visible part of the hunting ground. And now, thanks to Julian, the hunters knew I was armed with more than just curiosity. I had the diaries.

And I had touched the power. They wouldn't let me get away.