Chapter Four
"Wake up, Miles!" A jolt of raw adrenaline surged through him as his eyes snapped open to the sight of Crimson's face just inches away, his gaze wild with urgency and panic. Startled, Miles instinctively shoved Crimson back, scrambling up to a sitting position. "What the hell is going on?"
"Welcome back to the land of the living! Guess where we are?" Crimson's voice crackled with intensity, revealing just how dire their situation had become.
"In the dungeons! After that insane stunt, where else could we possibly end up?" Miles shot back, his heart racing as he shook off the remnants of sleep. "Did you find her? Did you find Laurel?"
"Find who?" Crimson's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of suspicion igniting a fire in Miles's gut.
"Laurel! The girl from the picture!" Miles pressed, desperation bleeding into his voice like water bursting through a dam.
Miles exhaled sharply, frustration morphing into a brewing storm within him. "Oh, about that… Nope, didn't find her." The words felt like shards of ice, slicing through the tension. Deep down, a sinking realization clawed at Miles: she was never here, was she?
Miles gaze fell, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of an unspoken truth. **Yes, she was never here. And I've never seen her before in my life.** Sorry, I lied to you. That thought hung heavily in the air, thick with betrayal. He glanced back at Miles, whose fists were clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned white against the dark stone of their prison. Anger bubbled beneath the surface, a wild beast ready to break free.
"Your face is all red, Miles—are you sick?" Crimson's voice trembled, laced with concern and the dawning realization of how deep the betrayal cut.
Miles's eyes flared with fury. "I'm not sick, Crimson! I'm pissed! You dragged me into this mess, and now we have nothing!" His voice echoed off the cold, damp walls, a stark reminder of their crumbling reality.
"Well, I do have something up my sleeve," Crimson replied, a wild glint in his eye. "I owe pretty much every criminal in Amethyst. I haven't spent a full day in any cell yet."
"Great, so someone is probably on their way to kill us by now!" Miles groaned, the weight of their reality crashing down.
"What do you mean by kill us?" Crimson's tone shifted a bizarre cheerfulness in his voice. "We're a team, Miles! You and I. The Brave Crimson and Miles the Kid!"
"Are you crazy, Crimson? Give me the picture! I can't stand another minute here with you!" The urgency was palpable in Miles's voice. "Well, I kind of lost it."
Miles's face flushed with rage. "You what? I said I lost it while I was trying to steal from the castle!"
"Wait! You need to make me think of a plan_" But before Crimson could finish, Miles lunged, fury overtaking him as he pounced on Crimson, hands gripping tightly around his throat, fueled by a whirlwind of betrayal and desperation.
A laugh almost escaped Crimson's lips, even in peril. "Maybe it was just a slip-up! Look, I'm sorry"
"Just a slip-up?" Miles growled, shaking Crimson slightly. "We're in a dungeon and you've lost the only piece of hope I could have used to find Laurel!"
The sound of echoing footsteps interrupted their struggle. The air around them thickened and grew colder as the footsteps drew closer, an ominous presence closing in.
"Stop, you lunatic!" Crimson shouted, shoving Miles away, the edge of panic lacing his voice. A frigid chill swept through the dimly lit prison cell, cutting through the stale air like a knife. "Can't you feel it? It's getting colder in here!"
Miles turned sharply, instincts flaring as dread washed over him. "You're the lunatic!" he snapped back, but the words felt hollow. With his back pressed against the unforgiving stone wall, a suffocating presence loomed just beyond his sight. Chills crept up his spine, an icy whisper of fear wrapping around him.
Without thinking, he rushed to Crimson's side, their shared breaths visible in the freezing air. "Yes, it's freezing!" Miles confirmed, his teeth chattering as he glanced nervously at the shadows pooling in the corners of their cell.
The cold was not just a sensation; it was alive, thrumming with a sinister energy that made the hairs on their arms stand on end. They stood shoulder to shoulder, hearts pounding in synchrony, both acutely aware that something—no, someone—was watching them. The grainy darkness seemed to pulse, and as they shivered from fear and chill alike, the atmosphere thickened, pregnant with unspeakable anticipation. Whatever haunted their prison cell was growing closer, its ominous presence ready to unveil a nightmare they might never escape.