Even so, I press as close to Catcher as I dare because of his radiating warmth and the meager glow from his torch. When the flame threatens to sputter out I rip lengths of material from my skirt—the extra layer of clothes a nice defense against the cold but not as important as light.

Sound down here is also tricky. Sometimes there’s a shuffle that could be feet sliding over old concrete and other times there’s the hurried chirping of animals that have made their home in the dark passages.

Every noise makes me jump, turn my head. My heart beats louder than any of it and I have to constantly tell myself that we’re okay. That we’ll be to the surface soon enough. That I’ve survived in this city alone for three years and I’ll make it through this as well.

But all that does is keep the panic from taking over completely—it still itches around the perimeter of my mind.

“Think this is far enough?” Catcher asks as the ceiling thrusts up, curving into the blackness of a gaping station.

I shake my head, my arms wrapped tight around my chest from the cold, my teeth chattering. I imagine the island above, the warren of twisty Neverlands streets crowded with buildings trailing toward the broad bare expanse of the Palisade wall. It doesn’t feel like we’ve walked far enough to have crossed fully underneath it.

“One more, I think. Just to be safe.”

Catcher nods and keeps pushing forward. Out of the corner of my eye I think I see something shifting deep on the platform, uncurling and stretching toward us. I tighten my grip on the machete. Running would only drain our strength—as long as we keep walking we can outpace the dangers down here.

We just have to keep going.

As we continue, the sound of dripping grows louder, more insistent, like a tripping heartbeat. Murky water starts to splash under our feet, cresting over our shoes and eventually up to our shins. Our steps become loud sloshing sounds that drown out everything else.

My skin tightens into goose bumps, the heavy weight of sodden pants dragging at my hips. On the surface thin slivers of ice fracture and disappear like eggshells cracking as we pass. The water keeps rising—it’s up along my thighs and then I’m standing on my tiptoes to keep it from brimming over my waist, my body jerking with the cold.

“Wait,” I call out to Catcher, my breath whispery and shaking through chattering teeth. He stops a few paces in front of me and turns, the low burn of his torch throwing an orange glow over his cheekbones.

I gesture at the water, a darkness swallowing my lower body. “What if there’s Unconsecrated in there?”

He holds the light closer to the surface as if it could illuminate what’s below. “They’d be downed,” he says. “You should be okay.”

“Should?” my voice squeaks. After the close call from before, I’m not willing to take the chance of being bitten by some plague rat floating underwater.