The Labyrinth Keys

Chapter 17: Three Shadows

Maki smirks, cracking her knuckles. "Then that's where we're going."

Maki puts the pedal to the metal, and we speed off. With any luck, we'll catch up to the thieves before they have time to enter the labyrinth.

The truck barrels down the empty streets, the low hum of the engine the only sound breaking the early morning silence. My grip tightens on the dashboard as Maki takes a sharp turn, the tires screeching against the pavement.

"Hurry up," I say, eyes scanning the road ahead. The old subway entrance looms closer—an abandoned station covered in graffiti, half-hidden behind a rusted gate.

Maki shoots back, "Going as fast as my baby can go."

She slams the brakes, the truck skidding to a halt just outside the entrance. We all pile out, weapons and backpacks ready. The air here is thick and stale. The city's noise feels distant, like this place exists in another time.

I motion for silence, creeping toward the entrance. The gate is unlocked—no surprise there. Whoever stole the key was in a hurry, too confident to cover their tracks.

Rin gestures at the dusty ground. "Footprints. More than one person."

Maki scowls. "Great. Wish I had my gang here."

I peer into the darkness beyond the entrance. The station stretches out before us, old tracks vanishing into a pitch-black tunnel. The thieves are down there somewhere. And if they're already inside, they're close to unlocking something we barely understand.

I exhale sharply, adjusting the straps on my backpack. "No time to waste. We go in quiet, we go in fast."

Rin nods, slipping her gun from its holster. Maki grins, flipping her knife in her hand.

With one last glance at each other, we step into the underground.

The moment we step inside, the temperature drops. The stale air clings to my skin, carrying the scent of rust, damp concrete, and something faintly metallic. Our footsteps echo softly as we descend the cracked tile steps into the abandoned station.

Rin checks her phone, her screen casting a dim glow over her face. "No signal," she mutters. "Figures."

Maki grips her knife tighter, eyes scanning the shadows. "Stay sharp. No telling what's down here with our thieves."

The station is in ruins. Broken benches, shattered glass, and torn advertisements from a decade ago litter the platform. The tracks stretch into the abyss, the tunnel swallowing all but the faintest sliver of light from the entrance behind us.

I kneel down near the edge of the platform, brushing my fingers against the dust-covered ground. Fresh tracks. My observation skills have gotten better since my pact I notice things quicker, and easier unlike before.

"They're not far," I whisper. "They're heading deeper in."

Rin swears under her breath, clicking on a small flashlight. "Then we better move before they disappear."

We drop down onto the tracks, careful to avoid the old, rusted rails. The darkness presses in around us, the silence thick enough that every small sound—our breathing, our footsteps, the faint drip of water—feels magnified.

Maki nudges me. "Remember, eyes peeled. You don't know what could be in here."

I glance at her. "You worried about rats?"

She snorts. "No, dumbass. I mean... other people. The kind that don't want to be found."

She's not wrong. These tunnels have been abandoned for years, but that doesn't mean they're empty. Squatters, gangs, or worse—things the city buried and forgot.

I push forward. "We'll deal with it if we have to. Right now, we focus on the key."

As we move deeper, the graffiti becomes more numerous, and the walls seem to close in on us. The cold air hits my face. Should we run into a gang or something worse down this dark hole, I really hope we can avoid them given we aren't a big group. A sound echoes from deeper in the tunnel. Eventually, we hear voices—sounds like arguing. The pathway narrows more until light begins to disappear altogether. The only light now comes from Rin's phone, just barely illuminating our path.

After what feels like forever, we finally draw closer to the voices. The path leads to a dead end where two barrels are lit with matches. The glow flickers against the walls of the underground tunnel. The wall at the end seems out of place, contrasting sharply with the rest of the station.

It looks chromatic black and almost seems to shine in the dim light. Three figures are huddled up on the back wall, each of them arguing.

Peeking out cautiously, I take in the figures ahead. Their backs are turned to me, but even at a glance, I can tell these aren't just random thieves—they move with purpose, each radiating a distinct aura.

On the left stands a towering figure, at least six and a half feet tall, his long green overcoat draping over his lanky frame like a shroud. The coat is tattered at the hem, dusted with grime, as if he's been trudging through places long abandoned. A brown beanie is pulled low over his forehead, partially concealing his face, but through the mess of tangled, unkempt brown hair, I glimpse pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. His boots are caked in dirt—the same kind I saw tracked across Finn's house.

Something about him feels off. He doesn't move like a clumsy brute; he's still—too still—like a coiled wire waiting for the right moment to spring. His sheer size alone is enough to intimidate, but it's the eerie silence surrounding him that makes my skin crawl.

The man in the center is shorter, around 5'9", but where the giant looms, this one struts. He wears a bright red long-sleeve shirt that fits snugly, accentuating a lean, athletic frame. A loose scarf is draped around his neck as if thrown on without thought, yet somehow it works—an effortless flair that makes him look like he belongs in some upscale café rather than skulking in an abandoned subway.

His hair is brown with a single blonde streak running through the middle, stylishly messy like he just rolled out of bed looking effortlessly cool. A sleek, well-fitted watch glints on his wrist, catching the dim light. His entire posture screams confidence, like he's the smartest guy in the room and knows it. He moves with a lazy arrogance, hands tucked into his pockets, weight shifting from one foot to the other in a way that suggests he's waiting—but not worried. Like whatever game they're playing, he already knows how it ends.

The last figure is the smallest of the three, but she immediately sets off alarm bells in my head.

She's a riot of color and motion, her pink hair wild and untamed, strands curling in every direction like they have a mind of their own. A playful grin stretches across her face, lips slightly parted as if she's barely restraining a laugh. She wears flowing pink silken robes, impossibly clean despite their length, shifting gracefully with every exaggerated, bouncy step she takes. Tiny bells sewn into the fabric jingle softly with each movement, like she's dancing on the edge of chaos.

Then I notice her hands.

Her nails are long—too long—curved and sharpened into delicate, gleaming points, hanging from her fingertips like natural daggers. They're pristine, polished to an unsettling shine, and I get the distinct impression they're not just for decoration.

Out of the three, she radiates the most danger. Not because she's the biggest, nor the smartest, but because she looks like she's having fun. Like this whole situation is a game, and she's just waiting for the moment to pounce.

I glance back at Maki and Rin, my voice barely above a breath. "Three of them. This isn't going to be easy."