Descent - Mattheo Riddle

Chapter forty-five

Mattheo

June 25th, 1:30 a.m., Knockturn Alley

My heart pounded, a desperate rhythm that filled my ears as I staggered forward, barely catching my balance from the rough landing. Knockturn Alley was dark, darker than I remembered. The air was thick with a damp, oppressive chill that clung to my skin, weighing me down. The stench of decay mixed with the acrid tang of potions, a putrid scent that twisted my gut, filling the narrow alleyway like a heavy fog.

My eyes darted from shadow to shadow, every muscle in my body taut with urgency. "Lucia?" I called out again, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife. But there was no answer—just the creak of an old sign swaying overhead, the rustle of something scurrying through the piles of trash scattered along the cobblestones.

Knockturn Alley had always been a pit, a place where light didn't reach and where hope didn't dare tread. But now, with the Dark Lord in power, it was something worse. It was like the entire place had given itself over to the dark—willingly. The shadows seemed to press in from all sides, almost sentient, almost alive. The brick walls of the narrow shops rose up on either side of me, their windows covered in grime, the signs above the doors hanging crooked as if even they couldn't bear to stay upright. Everything here felt twisted, the kind of place where even monsters felt at home.

The few figures that did move through the alley were cloaked, their faces obscured by dark hoods, their movements furtive. They slipped from shadow to shadow, avoiding the dim flicker of the lanterns that hung from rusted hooks, their flames barely bright enough to cut through the gloom. I caught the glint of eyes staring at me from the darkness, the low murmur of voices just out of reach—whispers, hisses, all tinged with suspicion.

I needed to blend in. My heart raced, my stomach twisting as the thought of Lucia—of her alone in this place—gripped me like a vice. She wouldn't know how to move here, how to hide in the shadows, how to make herself invisible. Not like I did. Not like someone who had spent his life treading the line between light and darkness. I knew how to survive in a place like this. I doubted she did.

I moved quickly, my eyes scanning my surroundings until I saw what I needed—a long, tattered coat hanging from a broken rack outside one of the dingy shops. I slipped towards it, my fingers moving deftly, pulling it free without hesitation. The fabric was thick and worn, smelling faintly of mildew and something else—something metallic, like old blood. It was perfect. I pulled it on, yanking the hood low over my face, my eyes narrowing as I stepped back into the alley.

There was no time to think. No time to plan. I had to find her.

I kept my steps purposeful, my posture relaxed, trying to appear as if I belonged here. Because that was the key to Knockturn Alley. You had to move like you were part of it—like you weren't afraid, like you weren't looking for something, or someone. Otherwise, you became a target. A mark. And I wasn't about to let myself become prey. The predator would never be the prey.

I glanced down one alleyway, the narrow passage barely visible through the shadows, and felt a pang of fear stab at me. What if she had gone down one of these paths? What if someone had seen her? Taken her? I swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away, forcing myself to focus. I couldn't think like that. I couldn't let myself fall apart. Lucia needed me. And I would find her.

Because here's again the thing with fear; I never felt it. I only felt it for her. But I couldn't let it stand in the way of my calculated, logical thinking. Because that's what I would need here.

The crowd thinned as I moved deeper into Knockturn, the twisted labyrinth of alleyways growing narrower, darker. A group of hags huddled around a bubbling cauldron in the middle of the path, their voices low and raspy as they chanted in unison, their eyes flicking toward me as I approached. I kept my gaze straight ahead, my expression blank, ignoring the prickle of their stares. There were things in Knockturn Alley you didn't make eye contact with. Things that thrived on attention.