### Chapter 14: **Echoes in the Dark**
The inside of the hunting cabin felt claustrophobic. Dust hung in the air, and the faint scent of rotting wood clung to every surface. Moonlight filtered through the cracked windowpanes, casting eerie patterns on the walls. Isabella sat in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest, the stack of damning documents still clutched tightly in her arms.
Alexander paced back and forth, his eyes never lingering in one place for too long. He was on edge, his body stiff with the tension that had been building ever since they fled the manor.
"We're not safe here," he muttered, almost to himself. "It's only a matter of time before they figure out where we've gone."
Isabella glanced up, her voice quiet. "But where else can we go? We can't run forever."
Alexander stopped pacing and turned to face her. "We need to get these documents to someone we can trust. Someone who isn't in the Fairchilds' pocket."
She bit her lip, knowing he was right, but unsure of whom they could even turn to. The web of corruption the Fairchild family had woven seemed to stretch across everyone they knew. Friends, authorities, even the press—anyone could be compromised.
Isabella looked down at the papers in her hands, the weight of them suddenly feeling much heavier. "Eliza must have known someone," she said softly. "Someone she trusted enough to leave the journal for."
Alexander crouched down beside her, his brow furrowed. "She knew the risks, but she also knew she wasn't alone in this. There has to be a way to finish what she started."
Isabella nodded, though a gnawing doubt lingered in her mind. Before she could speak, a sharp crack echoed outside the cabin, like a twig snapping underfoot. Her blood ran cold, and she shot Alexander a panicked glance.
Alexander was on his feet in an instant, his eyes wide, listening intently. The night outside had gone eerily still again. For a moment, nothing moved. Then another sound—a faint shuffling, barely audible but unmistakable.
"They've found us," Alexander whispered.
Isabella's heart raced. Her mind screamed for her to move, but her body felt frozen in place. All she could think about was the dark figure from the manor, the gun pointed at them, and the knowledge that whoever was out there wasn't going to let them leave alive.
Alexander moved silently to the cabin window, peeking through the cracked glass. He turned back, his expression grim.
"They're circling the cabin," he said quietly. "At least two of them. Maybe more."
Isabella's throat tightened. "What do we do?"
Alexander scanned the room, his eyes landing on an old hunting rifle mounted on the wall. He crossed the room in two strides and yanked it down. The wood was splintered and the barrel was rusted, but it was better than nothing. He rummaged through a nearby drawer, pulling out a single bullet. His expression tightened as he loaded the gun.
"One shot," he said, almost to himself. "Make it count."
Isabella pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling. "There has to be another way out. A back door, a window—anything."
They moved together, searching the small cabin for any possible escape. The windows were too small to squeeze through, and the only door was now surrounded by their pursuers. A sense of dread settled over them as the walls of the cabin seemed to close in.
Then Isabella spotted something—a trapdoor in the corner of the floor, half-covered by a moth-eaten rug. "Alexander," she whispered, pointing to it.
He moved quickly, throwing the rug aside and prying open the trapdoor. Beneath it, a narrow ladder descended into what looked like a root cellar. The space was cramped and smelled of damp earth, but it could be their only chance.
"They won't expect us to go down there," he said. "It's risky, but it might be our only option."
Isabella's heart hammered in her chest. The thought of descending into the dark, confined space terrified her, but the thought of staying in the cabin terrified her even more.
Without another word, she climbed down the ladder, her hands shaking as she gripped the rungs. The cellar was cold and pitch black, the air thick and stifling. Alexander followed her, pulling the trapdoor shut behind them, plunging them into complete darkness.
They crouched in the darkness, barely breathing, listening to the muffled sounds of movement above them. Footsteps creaked across the floor of the cabin, slow and deliberate. Isabella could hear her pulse in her ears, the sound almost deafening in the oppressive silence.
The footsteps paused directly over the trapdoor. Isabella's breath hitched. She could picture the figure standing there, just inches away, unaware of the two people hiding beneath their feet. Her whole body tensed, waiting for the inevitable moment when they would discover the cellar.
But then, to her astonishment, the footsteps moved away, toward the front of the cabin. A door creaked open, and for several long moments, the cabin was still again.
Alexander exhaled, his voice barely a whisper. "They didn't find us."
Isabella's hands shook as she clung to the rungs of the ladder. "But they're still out there."
The footsteps above grew distant, as if the intruders had left the cabin and were moving away into the woods. Alexander listened carefully, waiting until the sounds faded completely before speaking again.
"We'll have to wait until morning," he whispered. "It's too dangerous to move now. We'll stay here, stay quiet."
Isabella nodded, though the thought of spending the night in the cramped, suffocating cellar filled her with dread. But there was no other option.
As they settled into the darkness, the weight of the night pressed down on them, thick with fear and uncertainty. Every creak of the old cabin, every whisper of wind outside, felt like a threat lurking just out of sight.
Hours passed, though it felt like an eternity. Isabella's mind raced, replaying every moment of the night—Eliza's journal, the vault, the shadowy figures who pursued them. And now, trapped in this small, suffocating space, she wondered how much longer they could survive.
Then, just as she began to drift into a fitful, uneasy sleep, she heard it—a faint voice, somewhere in the distance. It was barely a whisper, carried on the wind, but it sent a chill down her spine.
"Isabella…"
Her eyes snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest. She turned to Alexander, who was already awake, his eyes wide with alarm.
He had heard it too.
The voice called again, closer this time, echoing through the night.
Someone was out there.
And they were calling her name.