The unstable ground could give way at any moment as they crossed the narrow passage.
In a situation like this, shouting was foolish, but expending unnecessary energy was even more so.
“If we stay here, that chandelier could fall on us at any second.”
“It will hold, as long as we do not move carelessly.
The vibrations from us moving are more dangerous.” Liam remained firm, aware of the risk of a secondary collapse.
Just then, he was seized by a fit of coughing.
He loosened the choking top button of his shirt and let out a weary breath.
“Hah… this is exhausting.”
He looked utterly spent, his forehead glistening with sweat.
Arlen watched him, her resolve hardening.
She placed both hands on the ground and lowered her body.
“What are you planning to do?” he asked.
“I would rather do something than wait and regret it.
I would rather be somewhere safer than sit here waiting in fear.”
Beneath her fluttering eyelashes, her eyes shone with an intense fervor.
In the oppressive darkness, her violet irises seemed to glow with the hue of a midnight olivia.
In the end, Arlen—the woman who had torn her own skirt and bared her legs—won the argument.
“I am smaller than you, Your Grace.
I will go first.”
She did not hesitate.
After finding a clear path, she crouched low and began to crawl.
Liam watched as her pale skin scraped against the rough ground, feeling as if he had been completely fooled by her fragile appearance.
Beneath that delicate facade was an unyielding will.
One moment, she was paralyzed by shock; the next, she was fighting to save them both.
Liam watched her every move, his senses on high alert, ready to act if her trembling limbs touched the unstable walls.
He followed close behind, and miraculously, they made it to the pillar without incident.
They had just settled into the small space when a low rumble vibrated through the ground.
With a deafening crash, the chandelier tore loose and plummeted into the exact spot where they had been sitting moments before.
It took a long time for the dust to settle over the shattered tiles.
“Oof… thank goodness.” The acrid dust filled Arlen’s nose, and she coughed violently.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, struggling to breathe in the dry air.
“I was right, was I not?” she asked, a triumphant, flushed smile on her face even as she coughed.
Liam watched her, this woman who was beaming with pride even as she coughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her.
“I will not change my assessment that your actions were reckless.”
She took the handkerchief, pressing it to her nose, but her bright smile did not fade.
Liam’s own lips softened.
“But as for you saving my life… I have nothing to say.” He had to admit it: if he had insisted on his own cautious judgment, they would both be dead.
Adopting a more comfortable posture, Liam shifted closer, their backs resting against the same stretch of wall.
His solid shoulder pressed against hers, and she could feel his warmth through her clothes.
Seeing his relaxed expression, a smile touched her own lips.
His fine hair brushed against her neck, sending a soft tickle across her skin.
She held her breath without thinking, finally letting it out in a quiet gasp.
“Y-you cannot fall asleep.”
“How cruel,” he murmured, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest.
Time passed, but the world outside remained silent.
They had been at the far end of a corridor, away from the main hall, and there was no sign of anyone else.
“What do we do now?” she whispered.
“With damage this severe, a search party has likely already been dispatched.”
Which meant they had to wait.
It was the beginning of an indefinite, agonizing vigil.
Every second dragged on.
As the hours trapped in the lightless void mounted, so did the fear.
A deep chill seeped from the stone walls, signaling the arrival of night.
Arlen hugged her exposed legs, curling into a small ball against the unbearable cold.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, a fine tremor ran through her body.
She had only been repeating something she had read in a book; she never imagined it would actually happen.
‘If I had stayed there, I would have died.’ The thought made her lips tremble.
She clasped her hands together, but when she glanced toward the collapsed area, her head swam with vertigo.
Liam, sitting so close, could not have missed her agitation.
He felt the trembling of her small frame and saw how the fingertips of the hands resting on her knees shook.
She had been acting brave all this time, while being terrified on the inside.
It reminded him of her at the police agency.
She was always talking about repaying her debts, yet she had asked for nothing in return for saving his life.
Her purity and integrity were a rarity in this day and age, and it struck him anew.
He felt a sudden, impulsive urge to reach for her.
He clenched his fist, startled by his own instinct to hold her hand.
‘It is just an unconscious gesture of comfort,’ he rationalized, looking away.
But his gaze kept returning to her pale, trembling fingers.
With a sigh, he gave in, covering her hands with his left one.
“Oh…” She flinched in surprise.
He gently pulled her hands into his lap, enveloping them completely.
She turned her head, and their faces were suddenly inches apart.
Their gazes locked.
In the suffocating silence, where the only sound was the whisper of their breathing, Arlen swallowed hard.
The uninhibited proximity made her head spin.
“It is stable now,” he said, his voice a low anchor in the dark.
“Nothing else will collapse.
You can rest easy.”
“Ah…” Only then did she realize he had known she was trembling all along.
Strangely, the calm, steady timbre of his voice gave her strength.
His firm hand, encased in a white glove, was incredibly warm.
“Your hands are so warm,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing.
“It is nice.”
Liam glanced down at their joined hands.
Hers felt impossibly fragile and cold in his grasp.
As he felt the trembling in her slender fingers gradually subside, he gently closed his eyes.
Arlen stole a glance at him.
She had assumed he would be as cool as his aloof impression suggested.
But looking at his face, so beautiful it was like a classical painting, caused a strange flutter in her stomach.
A deep blush crept up her neck.
This was the first time she had ever been this close to a man.
The moment she acknowledged it, her heart began to pound.
His eyelids slowly lifted.
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.
There was no time to look away.
Their gazes tangled, his eyes slightly raised as he held her stare.
His unwavering attention made her breath catch.
A fine sweat prickled her back.
Just as the tension became unbearable, he spoke, his red lips parting.
“Your face is flushed.
Do you have a fever?”
“No.” Her neck burned.
She was grateful for the darkness.
When she fidgeted, trying to pull her hand away, his long fingers slid between hers, lacing them together.
“Stay still,” he commanded softly.
At his gentle restraint, Arlen let out a slow, heated breath.
A strange, tingling sensation bloomed from their intertwined fingers.
The tension between them thickened, charged, and intimate.
Trapped in the narrow space, their eyes kept meeting.
Each time her wavering gaze met his, she would quickly look away.
“It will likely take longer than you think to be rescued,” he said.
“Sleep until then.
You will be safe.”
Sleep should have been impossible, but his low, soothing voice made her body feel heavy and languid.
In that hazy, dreamlike state, she had a fleeting thought: she was glad it was him she was trapped with.
“You had better not try anything sneaky,” she mumbled.
The shoulder she leaned against shook with his silent laughter.
She had only been joking, but as relief washed over her at the sound of his amusement, her consciousness began to fade.
Twenty-seven hours.
An isolation that had stretched into what felt like days.
Arlen, who had fallen into a deep sleep, was woken by someone shaking her.
Then she heard it: chaotic noises from beyond the wall and voices calling out for survivors.
By the time they were safely brought out, it was well past midnight, the sky an inky black.
“Here, have some water,” an officer said, handing her a cup.
The initial joy of survival was fleeting.
Arlen’s eyes scanned the temporary tent where the survivors were gathered.
The officer, reading her expression, pointed.
“Duke Crawford is overseeing the response.”
There he was, standing atop the rubble, studying a building blueprint.
A makeshift white bandage was wrapped from his shoulder down his right arm.
“I told him he needed to go to the hospital, but he insisted on managing the scene first,” the officer said with admiration.
“Is Duke Crawford not incredible?”
Even injured, he was commanding the officers, bringing order to the chaos.
Arlen understood the officer’s awe.
She knew that beneath his cold exterior was a man who put others before himself.
A shy smile touched her lips.
For some reason, that knowledge made her feel warm inside.
She was about to take a sip of water when a barrage of bright lights flashed.
An explosion at a high-end cafe, in broad daylight.
The news of survivors had drawn reporters like flies.
They swarmed the scene, their camera flashes incessant.
“Everyone, back off!
The area is not secure!”
“Come on, just a few pictures!”
Officers rushed to hold them back, but the reporters ignored them, pushing forward with rabid intensity.
They had just learned that Liam Crawford was among the survivors.
The fact that he had not been alone had sent them into a frenzy to identify his companion.
One reporter with an uncanny nose for a story spotted Arlen sitting at a distance.