As she descended the shaft, bits of dirt and mould fell into her hair and at one point something scuttled across the back of her hand. And then suddenly there were no more rungs. She hung there in the blackness. Lifting her left foot from the bottom rung, she probed downwards into the void.

The tips of her toes brushed a surface of some sort. It must be the bottom of the well. Letting go of the rungs, she dropped downwards, crying in pain as she landed on her damaged leg. She fell to the ground, feeling rough, dry dirt beneath her face.

Wincing, she pushed herself to her feet and stood there, totally disoriented. The absence of light was complete and she had no idea which direction to go in. In the darkness, she could end up getting forever lost in some underground cave system, never to see the light of day again.

She heard a scratching noise. She froze, and then braced herself for an attack. It got closer. It passed by, down by her feet. A rat.

Silence once again. No sound of Amber.

If she wasn’t mistaken, she could detect a very faint air current, the smallest of breezes blowing on her face. It must be coming from outside. It was ever so slight, but it was enough to tell her which direction to head in.

She began to edge her way along the dried-up subterranean riverbed, wary, as she moved forward, that Amber could be lying in wait around the next bend. Pulling the razor blade from her pocket, she once more clutched it defensively in front of her. The ground was thick with sediment, and the stony ceiling of the passage was low and uneven, sometimes causing her to stoop down in order to continue. She limped along, grasping the walls for support, every other step sending a bolt of pain through her.

She willed herself onwards, pulling herself along with her hands. In the sheer blackness, she soon lost track of how long she had been stumbling along, but eventually, after what seemed like ages, she noticed the gradient changing slightly, moving upwards. The passage seemed to be opening up, getting wider, light beginning to filter in imperceptibly. So far Amber had not materialised, and Bailey came to the conclusion that she must have fled.

Finally she reached the mouth of the passage, the point at which the tributary had gone underground. She emerged to find herself standing outside on the rocky dry riverbed of what had once been the River Foxbrook.

All around her were trees and she realised that she was deep in the woods that lay to the north of the prison. The night sky was clear and a bright crescent moon shone down over the gently swaying branches, transforming all colours into a monotone palette of greys and blacks. There was no noise but for the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and her own soft panting.

Bailey peered around. She could neither see nor hear any sign of Amber.