“Nic?” she whispered as they reached the landing. “No sign of them?”

“No heat spots, at least.”

“Good.” Mitzi turned the corner and hesitated. The dripping sound was louder, but the walls were intact, and she couldn’t see any exposed pipes.

Then a drop of water hit her helmet and rolled down the glass screen, and a surge of dread rose in Mitzi’s chest. She raised her head towards the shadowed stairwell ceiling four feet above her head and felt her blood run cold at the sight of a tendril reaching towards Franc.

“Run!” Mitzi swung her flamethrower nozzle up and pulled the trigger in one motion. The bright fire overwhelmed her night vision, blinding her, but she focussed on the place the monster had been as her companions stumbled past her. Then the night vision clicked off. There wasn’t just one Cymic; there were dozens, all clinging to the ceiling where they’d been absorbing water from the broken pipes that ran between the floors. Three of the creatures had reached around the flame, so close that their sticky black flesh nearly grazed her helmet. Mitzi threw herself backwards to avoid them, letting the motion of her body turn the nozzle upwards. Fire connected with the tendrils, and screeching, wailing screams filled her ears.

She rolled out from under the monsters then kicked herself to her feet. “Get moving!” she yelled, sprinting towards her team, who had hesitated up the hallway. “Go, go!”

Sounds followed her as she ran, and Mitzi glanced behind herself, but the passageway seemed empty. She paused, unzipped her pouch, and pulled out the torch, trusting proper light more than the grainy night vision. The narrow beam of golden light flickered over the stone walls and ceiling as Mitzi scanned every shadowy corner until she was certain she was alone with her team.

“They didn’t follow us,” she said, backing away from the stairwell, where she thought she could still see the dark shapes hovering on the ceiling, reluctant to move. “Why not?”

“Mitzi,” Franc said, his voice very quiet and filled with dread.

She turned to see what had caught his attention, and her breath seized in her throat.

Franc had his own torch pointed down the hallway, in the direction they needed to travel to get to the reactor. Eoin and Mir were frozen, but Skye had drawn her flamethrower and was pointing it at the creature caught in Franc’s shaking light.

A child of no more than ten or eleven, judging by her height, stood facing away from them. Her waist-length auburn hair shimmered in the golden light, and her dress, a pretty white thing dotted with pink flowers, seemed to shift in a non-existent breeze.

Mitzi swallowed, drawing her own flamethrower. Don’t hesitate. It’s not human. It’s not a child. Don’t let it fool you.

And yet, even as she raised the gun and aimed it at the girl, she hesitated to pull the trigger. The child was missing a shoe; her left foot still wore a little black boot, but the right one was only covered by a dirty white sock, frayed from walking through the building.