Les Chats du Guerre

12: Our Decisions Shape Us

Chapter 12: Our Decisions Shape Us

The smoke danced in the evening air, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness as you felt his eyes watch your every movement.

You ran your fingers over the cool stones of the basement walls, looking for a loose brick, a marking, anything to direct you towards something of use.

All you seemed to be finding was rubble, and Sam watching your failure wasn't exactly helping matters.

"So what's it like down there?" Sam called out.

You didn't respond, taking in the simplistic wooden table and what looked like dried spices and the like on the shelves. Typical fare for someone living in the country, it seemed.

"You're gonna have to talk to me at some point, y'know," Sam continued, taking in a deep lungful of smoke.

"Clearly you don't know how stubborn I can be," you muttered as you went back to the walls.

You noticed a smaller adjoining room which appeared to be mostly intact, and you strode towards it purposely.

You turned on the flashlight of your phone, scanning it over the room and letting out a yelp when you saw a few rats scurrying away.

Well. That explained the plethora of cats then. Could probably sense the potential meals crawling in the walls.

There was a long string hanging from the ceiling, frayed and broken at the end, and when you cast your light down to the floor your stomach leapt into your throat.

You picked up the journal, flipping through it quickly, your eyes widening.

It had....everything. Descriptions of cities and towns where the hordes of goods were placed, confirmed the existence of other smuggling networks, and from the looks of it named all of Les Chats' allies.

If you were looking for the master key, this was it.

You didn't hesitate to stuff the journal into your satchel, thankfully not damaged during your fall.

You came back out of the room to see Sam looking at you expectantly, and you didn't say a word.

You looked at the wall leading up to the surface, climbable to a certain degree if it wasn't for your arm.

You frowned before you turned around, your back sliding against the wall as you sat down.

You checked your phone, the battery close to dead, and you swore to yourself gently.

You shut it off, slipping it into your bag beside the journal before you closed your eyes and sighed.

"So, nothing down there I take it?" Sam asked, and you let out a sharp huff.

"Look, I'm exhausted Sam. I've spent two hours by train to get out here and I've just fallen what's probably three feet onto a stone floor. I just...don't want to talk."

"Alright, alright," Sam replied gently.

You heard him shifting around up there and despite your curiosity you kept your eyes closed.

"So...what's it like working with Clarke anyways?"

"Thought I said I didn't want to talk," you replied.

"That bad, huh?" Sam asked, and you opened your eyes.

"It's great, actually," you snarled. "Unlike some people he thinks before he leaps."

"Didn't realize you were into that," Sam replied.

"Everyone is into that, Sam," you countered. "Except adrenaline junkies and impulsive treasure hunters."