The iron door shuddered for the third time.
Dust rained from the ceiling. Between Damar's bones and the freshly dug earth, Arga felt something cold creep from the soles of his feet to his chest.
Elara pulled him away from the corridor door.
“Don't fight them here.”
“Then which way do we go?”
She pointed to the wall behind the old cabinet. “Help me.”
Arga shoved the shovel beneath the cabinet. They pushed together. The old iron shifted a few inches, producing a long screech as the door behind them was struck again.
Behind the cabinet was a narrow gap.
Elara knelt and felt along the bottom brick. One section of the wall sounded hollow when she tapped it.
“Damar found it,” she said.
“This passage?”
“The way out.”
“If he knew the way out, why did he still die here?”
Elara looked at her brother's skeleton. “Because he trusted the wrong person.”
The next blow made the door hinges shriek.
Arga asked no more questions. He dug at the earth beneath the bricks with his bare hands. His nails were quickly packed with mud and cement chips. Elara joined him. Her dress grew dirty, her palms were scraped raw, but she didn't stop.
For the first time, Arga saw the girl not as the face from his dream.
Elara wasn't someone waiting to be rescued.
She was someone who had spent years digging her own way out, then chosen to bring Arga into the darkness with her.
At last, the brick came loose.
Damp air burst through the gap. Behind it was a low tunnel leading somewhere out of sight.
“Get in,” Elara said.
“Did Damar come through here?”
“He should have.”
Arga glanced at the skeleton on the ground. He picked up the pendant that had fallen near Damar's bones earlier, then held it out to Elara.
“Take this.”
Elara accepted the pendant. Their fingers brushed.
That brief touch felt more ominous than the sound of the people waiting beyond the door.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because we're not leaving him behind a second time.”
Something changed in Elara's eyes. She clutched the pendant tightly, as though the small object still held her brother's pulse.
The iron door began to open.
“Arga.”
The faceless man's voice came from beyond the passage.
“Don't make a choice you can't take back.”
Arga looked at the gap in the wall, then at Elara.
“Isn't that what you've wanted from the beginning?”
The man chuckled softly. “I only gave you a choice. You came here on your own.”
Elara pushed Arga into the tunnel.
“Don't listen to him.”
“He knows my name.”
“So do I.”
“He knows about my life.”
“So do I.”
“He promised me everything.”
Elara stopped in front of him. The narrow space left their shoulders almost touching.
“I can't promise you a home,” she said. “I can't promise you money. I don't even know if we'll still be alive tomorrow.”
Behind her, the iron door opened wider. White light from the basement pierced the darkness.
“But I can promise you one thing.”
“What?”
“If you stay with me, I'll never lie to you about the danger waiting for you.”
Arga gazed at her face. That promise shouldn't have sounded romantic. But in a life filled with people who hid the truth from him, honesty felt more luxurious than every house he'd ever seen in his dreams.
Behind them, footsteps entered the basement.
Elara grabbed Arga by the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer.
“If you want to leave, go now.”
“And you?”
“I'll keep walking.”
“Alone?”
“As always.”
Arga looked at the tunnel. Then he saw Elara's hand still clutching his jacket. Her grip was strong, but her fingertips were trembling.
He realized something he didn't want to admit.
Elara wasn't asking for a kidnapper.
She was asking for someone who wouldn't leave her when every reason to walk away was already there.
Arga reached for Elara's hand.
“I'm coming with you.”
They entered the tunnel just as a shadow appeared at the mouth of the basement.
“Arga!”
The man's voice pursued them.
The tunnel sloped sharply downward. Arga nearly fell, but Elara caught him. They ran through the darkness, striking the stone walls and breathing in air that smelled of water and rust.
Behind them came the sound of things being smashed apart.
They wouldn't have long.
The tunnel ended beneath an old greenhouse outside the Wiratama family's walls. A rotten wooden door blocked the way. Elara slipped Damar's pendant into a small slot in its center.
Click.
The door opened.
They emerged into the rain.
Arga coughed. Water soaked his face and clothes. Before them, the city stretched away beneath pale lights and streets that were beginning to empty.
Freedom looked so close.
Then Arga saw something across the street.
A black car waited with its engine running.
Its rear window lowered slowly.
Rafael Wiratama sat inside.
Arga knew his face from the paintings, but the old man in the car looked far younger than he should have. His eyes were clear. His smile was calm.
Beside him was an empty seat.
“No need to run anymore, Elara,” Rafael said. “You've already brought us the person we need.”
Elara froze.
Arga felt her hand slip free of his.
Rafael looked at him through the rain.
“That boy,” he said, “isn't your kidnapper.”
Elara didn't answer.
“He's the son of the man who killed Damar.”
The world seemed to lose its sound.
He turned to Elara. She was pale, but she didn't look surprised.
“Is it true?”
Elara opened her mouth.
No words came out.
Rafael's smile widened.
“Now ask her, Arga. Ask her why she chose you.”
The rain fell harder.
Arga stared at the girl who had appeared in his dreams from the very beginning. For the first time, he didn't see a captive in front of him.
He saw someone who might have chosen him long before they met.
And perhaps, from the beginning, he hadn't been the one who came to save Elara.
Perhaps he was the one being led into a trap.