CHAPTER 64: [64] THE WRONG KIND OF QUIET

The sun had long since vanished behind Orellia’s volcanic peaks when Pierre, Raven, and Alyssa slipped from the Crimson Sparrow into the harbor’s murky waters. The distant sounds of Jack’s continued heroic proclamations echoed across the town square, providing the perfect cover for their infiltration.

Pierre’s boots squelched against the wet dock planks as he hauled himself up from the water. The cold harbor brine had soaked through his clothes, but the chill helped sharpen his focus. Hardy’s borrowed darkness still coursed through his veins, a constant reminder of what he’d absorbed from the fallen tyrant. The sensation felt like swallowing broken glass wrapped in velvet—powerful but wrong in ways that made his teeth ache.

"This way," Raven whispered, her voice barely audible above the lapping waves. Water dripped from her red and white hair as she crouched behind a stack of amber crates. "The northern route Henrik mentioned leads past the old mining entrance. It’s been sealed for decades, but I saw the work crews heading that direction yesterday."

Alyssa wrung seawater from her blonde hair, her pale green eyes scanning the shadows between buildings. "Patrol schedules change every four hours at Naval installations. If Moreau runs her operation anything like a proper military unit, we have maybe twenty minutes before the next rotation."

"Lead the way," Pierre said, adjusting the coil of rope slung across his shoulder. They’d managed to acquire basic spelunking equipment from an abandoned fishing supply shop—ropes, oil lanterns, and a small bag of tools that might prove useful for whatever locks or barriers they encountered.

They slipped into the back alleys. Amber dust muffled their footsteps, coating every surface in a fine, gritty powder. They moved from one deep shadow to the next, the silence between them stretched thin. The volcanic island’s unique geology created a perpetual golden haze that hung in the air, catching moonlight and transforming even the darkest corners into something almost magical.

Raven navigated the maze of narrow passages between buildings with the confidence of someone who’d spent years studying escape routes. She paused at each intersection, her cat-like pupils dilating as she scanned for movement. Pierre noticed how she favored her left side slightly—probably still feeling the effects of her earlier swim through the harbor.

"There," Alyssa pointed toward a cluster of weathered stone buildings nestled against the cliff face. "Those structures predate the current mining operation by at least a century. If there’s a sealed entrance, it’ll be somewhere in that complex."

The buildings rose from the volcanic rock like ancient teeth, their amber-stained walls bearing the distinctive architecture of Orellia’s original settlers. Carved serpent motifs decorated the lintels—not Moreau’s Black Serpent emblem, but something far older and more primitive.

Pierre studied the structures while his companions checked their equipment. The sight triggered something in the inherited memories from his body’s previous occupant—vague recollections of childhood stories about the "Deep Caves" where the island’s first inhabitants had discovered treasures beyond imagination.

"The entrance should be behind that largest building," Raven said, consulting a rough sketch she’d made during her earlier reconnaissance. "The work crews always emerged from that direction, and they were covered in a different type of dust than the regular amber miners."

They approached the building complex in single file, using the shadows cast by jutting balconies and decorative stonework to mask their movement. Pierre’s enhanced senses, sharpened by Hardy’s stolen essence, picked up the faint chemical tang of recent excavation work—the smell of disturbed earth and exposed stone that clung to mining operations.

The sealed entrance revealed itself as they rounded the building’s corner: a massive stone archway that had been bricked up with modern mortar and reinforced with steel bars. However, recent construction had created a new opening to the left—a carefully cut passage that descended into darkness at a steep angle.

"Professional work," Alyssa observed, running her fingers along the cut stone edges. "This wasn’t done with pickaxes and shovels. Someone invested serious money in proper excavation equipment."

Raven lit one of their oil lanterns, the flame casting dancing shadows across the tunnel entrance. "The question is whether they bothered posting guards down here, or if they’re relying on secrecy to protect whatever they’re digging for."

Pierre touched the sea-blue stone at his throat, drawing comfort from Mika’s gift as they prepared to descend into the unknown. "Only one way to find out."

The tunnel angled downward at a treacherous slope, forcing them to move slowly to avoid losing their footing on the smooth stone. The walls bore tool marks from modern excavation equipment, but underneath the fresh cuts, Pierre could make out much older carvings—symbols and patterns that seemed to writhe in the lantern’s flickering light.

"These markings," Alyssa whispered, tracing one of the ancient symbols with her fingertip. "They’re not random decorations. This is some kind of writing system."

Raven held the lantern closer to the wall, illuminating a section where the old carvings had been carefully preserved around the modern excavation. "Moreau’s people knew what they were looking for. They cut around these symbols deliberately."

The tunnel continued its descent for what felt like an eternity, branching occasionally into smaller passages that disappeared into absolute darkness. Pierre’s internal compass suggested they were moving roughly northeast, deeper under the island’s volcanic foundation than should have been structurally possible.

"Something’s wrong," Alyssa said suddenly, her voice tight with tension. She’d stopped walking and was staring back up the tunnel they’d just traversed. "We should have encountered guards by now. Or at least some kind of security measures."

Pierre paused, letting his enhanced hearing stretch into the darkness ahead and behind them. He strained his enhanced hearing, stretching it into the oppressive dark. Nothing. Not the scrape of a boot, not a cough, not even the distant chink of a pickaxe. The silence was absolute, a heavy blanket that smothered all sound. It was the sound of a place that had been deliberately emptied.

"You’re right. This feels too easy."

Raven extinguished the lantern, plunging them into total darkness. "Listen."

They stood motionless in the black tunnel, straining their ears for any sound that might indicate human presence. Pierre’s borrowed senses picked up the faint drip of water somewhere far below, the almost inaudible settling of ancient stone, but nothing that suggested they were being observed or followed.

"Either they’ve abandoned this place," Pierre said quietly, "or—"

"Or it’s a trap," Alyssa finished. Her Naval training had taught her to recognize when tactical situations felt wrong, and every instinct she possessed was screaming warnings. "We should consider turning back."

Raven relit the lantern, her blue eyes reflecting the flame like polished gems. "We’ve come too far to quit now. Besides, if this is a trap, running won’t help us. We’re already committed."

Pierre had to admire her logic, even as his own survival instincts urged caution. They’d crossed too many lines to retreat now—theft, breaking and entering, and whatever charges would apply to infiltrating a pirate stronghold. Forward was their only viable option.