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nine.
NATHAN SPITS FIRE
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TATE'S FLASHLIGHT SLICES through the tunnel's darkness like a blade, revealing the thick cobwebs tangled on the walls and ceiling of the narrow stairwell. She follows Chloe's figure as they make their careful descent. Their footsteps echo, the stairwell so quiet that every sound that bounces back to them is almost deafening. Even Tate's breathing sounds loud to her.

"This is amazing," Nathan says. "I mean, we're the first people down here in 500 years."

"Yeah, and hopefully we won't come across any skeletons of failed treasure hunters," Tate adds. "Not really great for morale."

She starts counting the steps to pass the time. Fifty, sixty, seventy... by the time they reach one hundred, the stairwell opens to winding, oddly shaped passageways caved from rock, with even more thick blankets of webs decorating the uneven tunnels.

Nathan shines his light against one of the walls. "Hey, I got an arrow pointing this way."

"The Eye of Providence," Chloe says, pointing to the symbol on the wall beside her. "I say we go with God."

"Tate?"

Tate glances between the two symbols, wondering why they let Sully leave with the journal. She sure as hell isn't going to ask him for help so soon after their split. Ultimately, she points at Chloe. "That way."

"But there's literally an arrow that points this way," Nathan argues, jabbing his thumb to the right.

Chloe shrugs. "Suit yourself."

"But the arrow..." Nathan trails off as Chloe heads down her path without a second glance. He shoots an imploring look at Tate, who stares at him blankly. "I'm gonna go this way."

He doesn't make it more than five steps before spikes shoot out of both walls with a metallic shing! Nathan freezes, tensing so he doesn't stumble forward and kill himself, gaping at his brush with death.

"We should go your way," he says, quickly turning around. "We should go your way."

"Arrow is too obvious," Tate tells him once he falls in step behind her again. "That's like if a neon sign was pointing at the treasure—it would clearly be a trap meant to weed out the foolish."

Nathan ignores the fact that she'd basically insulted him and grumbles, "You could've said that sooner."

She shrugs. "You were so confident in your decision. Point Tatum." She looks at him over her shoulder, a smile playing on her lips. "We're tied, now. Told you I'd come for your throne."

The scenery doesn't change as they follow the winding path, occasionally stooping to avoid sloping ceilings or low-hanging webs. Tate ties her hair back into a low bun at the base of her neck to keep it from hanging in her face. Half of the strands fall out anyways, but it's the thought that counts.

Eventually, they reach a locked gate with an old, rusted sign that reads 'Prohibit El Pas'.

Nathan lifts the padlock. "Um..."

"Guess we aren't the first people down here in five hundred years," Tate says, rummaging through her backpack for the set of lock picks again.

"Do you wanna work your magic?" Nathan asks her.

Once Tate unzips the case, she jimmies one into the lock, twisting it this way and that to no avail. As she tries another, Nathan directs a question at Chloe.

"So, when did you decide to become Indiana Jones?"

"When I was a kid, I liked to go exploring," Chloe replies. "One day, I found a bronze statue covered in gems buried under a bridge. I'll never forget the feeling, you know? I ran and showed it to my father. He thought he'd put it in a museum... but instead, he sold it. He kept all the money. We never saw him again."

Nathan exhales through his mouth. "Wow, that sucks. I'm sorry."

"Why?" she asks. "I'm better for it."

The padlock unlocks, but it's so rusted over that it doesn't unlatch. Tate rattles it frustratedly. Then she lifts her foot and performs a powerful kick that would make Ronan proud, both denting the gate and causing it to swing open.

Returning to a normal stance, Tate turns toward the others and gestures to the path. "Carry on."

The area beyond the gate reveals enormous pipes lining the walls, the water bubbling inside of their wide tubes. The air around them grows warmer. She's unsure if it's plumbing or a boiler room-type area, but as she peers through the gaps in the pipes to their left, she sees a much more modern space than they've gotten used to—metal, debris, concrete.

"Does this look right to you?" Chloe asks.

Nathan shrugs. "I'm not really sure what the path to ancient treasure looks like."

"More ancient?" she suggests.

"I guess. Hey Sully, do you see anything weird up there?"

Tate had momentarily forgotten that he could hear everything they'd been saying due to their long-distance comms. He's been completely silent thus far, making him easily dismissible. He'd probably rolled his eyes earlier at her and Nathan's competitive jabs.

"You're gonna have to be more specific," he answers.

Tate takes that as a no.

The pipes hiss and groan the further they walk, sending steam billowing over the floor. But beyond that, Tate can hear a familiar sound that is wholly unexpected: pulsing, wild bass. Like music.

"Do you hear that?" Chloe asks.

The corridor turns to the left up ahead. The pipes at the junction shine turquoise and purple, with flashing lights making them blink in and out of sight. The pathway abruptly ends as soon as they round it. Instead, they find a circular hole covered by a grate, alternating neon lights shining through it.

"What the hell?" Nathan questions.

"Underground nightclub?" Tate wonders. "Weird that it leads here, though."

"Very weird," he agrees.

He kicks out a leg, popping the grate out. They duck through the hole to find themselves exactly where Tate guessed they'd be—a nightclub. The electronic music is loud enough to rattle Tate's brain inside her skull and vibrate the ground under their feet. The vivid, flashing lights illuminate the horde on the dance floor, packed together in tight groups, mostly wearing little clothing.

Tate blinks. Her eyes struggle to adjust, her ears ringing. Compared to the dark and quiet tunnels, this abrupt change assaults her senses.

It must be loud enough for Sully to hear, because he questions, "Hey, what's going on down there?"

"This can't be right, can it?" Nathan asks.

"I can't hear one thing you're saying."

"Obviously, the eighteen wanted to stop and party on their way to retrieve their gold," Tate replies.

They move closer to the center of the action, pressing tightly together to avoid losing each other in the crowd.

"Yeah, this definitely doesn't look right," Nathan says.

Chloe grabs their arms and points. "Look. Above the bar."

Tate squints to see through the dizzying array of strobe lights. 'INFERNUM' is etched on the stone wall.

"The bar is called... hell?" Tate questions. "Odd marketing technique, but okay."

"Come on." Nathan beckons them into the masses, twisting and turning to slide between the gaps of tightly packed dancers. But before they can get very far, his hand shoots out to stop the girls and yank them to the side. "Woah, woah, woah, woah. It's Braddock's backup."

It's strange to hear Jo being referred to by their surname, but she supposes Sully calls her that to add some distance between them, and Nate had picked it up. He glances at her to gauge her reaction. Tate's expression remains carefully blank. If Jo's henchmen are here, that means her sister isn't. And she can handle a few guys.

"What?" Chloe asks, peering over Nathan's shoulder to glimpse the Scottish man lurking on the edges of the club.

He peeks back as well. "We better keep moving."

Tate tugs her hair free of its elastic and shakes it out. Nathan catches the movement as he faces forward, his forehead creasing in confusion. He appears even more perplexed when he realizes that Chloe is also taking her short locks out of their stubby ponytail and shrugging her jacket off her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Blending in," Chloe replies.

"Yeah, not a bad idea." Nathan tosses his bag behind a column against the wall. Tate sets hers aside as well—their bulky, massive bags will make them stick out like sore thumbs.

It's like he's purposely trying to avert his gaze as Tate drags him into the horde of people. As they move toward the center, they're forced closer together, pressed nearly chest to chest. His body warmth spreads to her front.

Chloe picks the closest drunk person and invites them to dance. Nathan looks even more nervous now, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes slightly wide.

"Hey, listen, I'm not much of a dancer," he says over the thumping music, leaning in toward her ear so he's audible over the wild bass.

"What a coincidence," Tate says. She winds her arms around his neck. "Neither am I."

She settles with a sway of her hips that matches the beat. Nathan tries to move along with her, but he's stiff, moving awkwardly, clearly more comfortable behind the bar than in the action of a club. Not to mention that he keeps glancing at the closest henchman. Not very "blending in" of him.

"Stop looking at them," Tate says, grabbing Nathan by the chin and turning his face toward hers. "And loosen up."

A dancer's body bumps into hers from behind, pushing them closer. She has to angle her face to the right to avoid a nose-to-nose collision. Their foreheads incline toward each other as if drawn by magnets, their breath mingling. Tate's heartbeat is as wild as the music. It pounds against her ribcage as if yearning to break free and land in the hands of the thief before her.

But he's still rigid, barely touching her sides, which is not convincing whatsoever. So Tate grabs his hands and puts them on her ass.

They're so close that she can hear his breath hitch in the back of his throat at the action. Even in the neon pink and blue lighting that drenches him in vibrant color, she notices his cheeks flush.

They reach the edge of the crowd. Tate pushes him toward the bar and Nathan blinks, dazed, as if breaking free from being hypnotized. She quickly ducks back onto the dance floor and retrieves their bags from the corner, then shoves them over the counter while the bartender is busy preparing the drinks that Nathan had ordered.

With the bartender's back turned, Nathan smoothly leans over the counter and grabs a bottle of Absolut Vodka. He unscrews the cap and tilts it over the edge. The liquid trickles down the sticker-covered edge of the bar, splattering onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" Chloe asks.

"I'm causing a distraction."

Nathan produces his lighter and flicks at the igniter. It sparks with each movement, resistant to his efforts to produce a flame despite his persistence. Chloe gets tired of watching him after a few seconds and sighs.

"Oh, for God's sake." She grabs a nearby candle and holds it to the vodka. In an instant, it ignites, causing the nearby patrons to whistle and cheer. The trio hops over the counter while the employees rush to put out the flames.

A mosaic art piece lies beneath the "INFERNUM" sign. It depicts two figures—a woman holding what looks like an hourglass and a man looking back at her. Tate presses her hands against the painted glass to see if there's a hidden button, but the piece doesn't give way against her touch.

"Do you think it's another puzzle?" Chloe asks.

"Well, whatever it is, you better figure it out fast," Nathan replies, grabbing a shaker. "Imma try and buy us some time."

He launches into his fancy bartender show, tossing the shaker behind him and catching it with the other hand. Tate has seen him act like a show pony a few times, mostly in an attempt to impress wealthier patrons and earn more tips.

While Chloe fiddles with the items on the counter, tossing napkins aside, Tate examines the stickers plastered beside the art piece. There's one of the Gatorade logo, some skulls, and Rough Rider Whiskey. Then she spots it to the right—a sticker of the Eye of Providence.

Just as she's about to inform Chloe, she's startled by a loud CLANG that makes her whip around to see the Scottish henchman slamming his hands against the bar.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah. Let me guess." Nathan rears back, stopping him. He eyes the man up and down. "Piña colada?"

The man is unamused. He launches himself over the bar, but Nathan dodges and smashes a glass into the side of his head, sending broken shards exploding as the guy crumples to the ground. Then he seizes a bottle and slams it into the head of the other henchman before he can clear the counter.

"Eye of Providence!" Tate hisses, jabbing Chloe in the arm to grab her attention.

The girl turns back toward the mosaic. Chloe uses her nails to peel the Rough Rider sticker from above the pyramid one, revealing a bigger Eye etched into the stone.

"But there's no keyhole," Tate says.

"Not yet." Chloe retrieves a screwdriver from her bag and begins chipping at the pupil.

By the sounds from behind them, Nathan's distraction is not going well. Tate glances left to see the enormous Scottish man slamming him into a row of shot glasses, breaking them all instantly with the force of the shove. He takes Nathan's throat in one meaty hand to hold him in place.

"Ya think yer a comedian, do ya, sunshine?" he demands.

"Okay, I got it, I got it." Somehow, even in the process of being throttled, Nathan is smiling. "Sex on the Beach."

The man shakes his head and releases Nathan to grab his gun. Tate's heart leaps into her throat, her hand reaching into her jacket pocket for a knife, but Nathan has it covered. He uses his foot to launch a mechanical wine opener into his hand and whacks the gun to the floor. When the Scottish man raises an elbow, he ducks.

"Hurry!" Tate can't help but exclaim.

"I'm moving as fast as I can," Chloe replies through gritted teeth.

She slides the screwdriver into her pocket and inserts the key, using both hands to turn it to the left. The mosaic slides downward with the terrible sound of grating stone, revealing a hidden door.

"Nate!" she calls as she climbs inside.

Nathan is still busy fighting with bar supplies. Tate keeps an eye on him as she lifts herself into the passage. A bottle of vodka begins leaking after he slams it into the henchman's face, and he mutters, "Oh shit," catching the stream with his mouth.

"Nate, this is not a time for shots!" Chloe cries, wrenching the cross from the makeshift keyhole. "Let's go!"

Nathan grabs a candle and spits the vodka out toward the flame, creating a burst of fire that blows straight toward the other guy. He windmills back to avoid the dragon-like ball of fire. Tate gapes at the impressive move, frozen in her spot until Chloe yanks her back to make room for Nathan.

He uses the bar as leverage to dive into the spot just before the mosaic slides shut.

Even after they're all safe, Tate's heart continues to pound incessantly. She's warm—but not from exertion or adrenaline. Her entire body is flushed, her skin hot under her jacket, unable to wrench her eyes from Nathan as he lies on his stomach, panting hard.

"God, those guys suck," he groans, his face set in a grimace.

"Where the hell are we?" Chloe asks.

Tate pushes the thought of how attractive that was away and clicks on her flashlight. Together, their conjoined beams of light reveal a small stone room barely high enough for them to crouch. Nathan looks down at a grate on the floor.

"Well, well, well," he says.

Tate can't believe she was attracted to him two seconds ago. Actually, she doesn't know what she wants to do more—punch him or slam her mouth into his.

Chloe grabs the iron bars, her arms straining as she tries to pull them free, but they're set firmly in place. She releases them with a gasp. "Look for a way out."

Tate shines her light to the left and right, but all she can see is stone. She presses her hands to a few of them to check for weak spots. To her dismay, they're all solid, and there isn't an Eye of Providence to be seen.

"I think I found one," Nathan says.

Tate looks up to see a circle above them. It's designed like a compass, with star-shaped etchings blossoming from the center, where a keyhole lies.

"Almost caught up," Sully's voice says in their comms.

"Hey, you got that key?" Nathan asks.

"Yeah." Chloe reaches up, inserting it into the hole. It takes more effort to turn than anything they've encountered so far. Her arm shakes, her brows pinching together until it finally clicks.

Water trickles down onto her arm. An ancient groan sounds from deep in the well, followed by more mechanical clanking from somewhere above them. They look around, but nothing pops open to rescue them. And then a familiar sound causes all of them to look below them.

"Water," Chloe says, watching as it begins to spill through the grated area beneath their feet, sloshing against the walls.

"A lot of water," Nathan adds.

Tate isn't sure how big that space below them is, but it can't be very large. Soon the water laps at their shoes and soaks the hem of her pants. Tate presses at the walls again, looking for any spots she may have missed, her back curved against the low ceiling.

"Oh my God, oh my God!" Nathan cries. "This has to be a test. The eighteen must've built an escape, right?"

"Did the book say anything about water?" Tate asks. Her heart trips over itself from how fast it's pumping. As the water steadily rises, so does her fear, the tiny space shrinking with every millisecond.

Her mind rifles through every bit of Christian symbolism that goes with water. The flood that wiped out everything except Noah's ark? Baptism? Does this well have a double meaning?

"No," Nathan replies. "'Trust in your fellow man, for one shall go to heaven, the other to hell.' That's it—nothing about water. 'Trust in your fellow man, for one...'"

As he trails off, all of their heads snap up in unison. "Sully!"

They reach up, their hands banging against the porthole in the ceiling, which refuses to budge.

"Sully! Sully!" Nathan shouts, his voice high and frantic. "There has to be another keyhole somewhere up there that opens this door!"

"I'm, like, literally in a Papa John's right now," is his reply.

"No time for pizza!" Tate cries. "We're about to drown right now."

Then, to her relief, he says a moment later, "I found it. I'm gonna need a minute."

"Sully, we do not have a minute!" Nathan yells.

The clock ticks faster toward their deaths. Tate moves desperately, wondering if there could possibly be another way out. She reaches into the water, now calf-high, and tugs at the bars again. But not even the passing centuries have loosened their hold, so she releases them.

Sully curses in their comms, pretty much echoing Tate's thoughts.

"This is so extra!" she says, her chest heaving. "Who goes through so much trouble for hiding gold?"

The next sentence through the earpiece is enough to freeze her in place. "Come on, Jo. You know I can't do that. You haven't said 'please.'"

Fuck. Of course Jo was tailing him this whole time. If she sent her little henchmen through hell after them, she would take the route of heaven. It's ironic that she chose this moment to reveal herself—the moment when they need Sully the most.

If Sully doesn't find a way to get to the keyhole, Jo will actually succeed in killing Tate this time, whether she knows it or not.

"Didn't I tell you you should've said 'please'?"

Gunfire explodes in their ears. Tate can only hope it was from Sully and not aimed at him.

Nathan yanks Tate upright. She hadn't realized that the water was quickly engulfing her as she'd stayed kneeling. Her shoulders ache from hunching over, the oxygen in the room quickly depleting. She tries to force herself to slow her breathing, but her lungs burn, desperate for more air that she doesn't have.

"Sully! Hurry!" Nathan says.

"Shut up. I'm working on it." Sully's voice is surprisingly harsh, like begging for their lives is inconveniencing him.

"I'll shut up when you get us the hell out of here!"

Several shrieks and grunts transfer through their comms this time. Tate doesn't bother wasting her breath when she knows Nathan will speak, so she stays silent as he asks, "What's going on? Sully, if you don't turn that damn key, we're gonna drown."

The water laps at Tate's chest now, engulfing her body in shivers, her bag weighing her down, but it's too priceless for her to give up. She wishes she would have brought dynamite or something to blow the ceiling open.

"It's gonna take a little longer than I thought, kid," Sully replies, his voice strangled.

Jo is going to kill him, too.

"You've gotta help," Nathan says. "We're gonna try again to get this grate up, okay?"

Taking deep inhales, they hold their breath and submerge themselves beneath the water. Tate swims blindly until her hands grasp onto the metal bars again. She will not let her sister win like this. She pulls with all her might, her muscles screaming from the sheer effort.

It still doesn't budge. Even if it did, there's no guarantee they could find another way out from there.

They resurface, gasping for air. There's barely enough room to put their heads above the water.

"Sully, it's now or never, buddy!" Nathan exclaims, coughing as the water laps into his mouth mid-sentence. "We're running down of options down here!"

"I will not let her kill me again," Tate grumbles.

Nathan bangs his fist onto the porthole over and over, his biceps straining against the barricade. Tate grabs his arm and pulls it down.

"You're gonna break your hand," she tells him.

"Hey, look at me," Chloe commands them, her face serious and calm, smudged eyeliner running down her cheeks in rivers. She holds both of their stares as they tilt their heads back in anticipation of being fully submerged. "We can do this."

"Okay," Nathan says. "We can do this."

Tate nods, trying to quell the rage and fear at war in her body.

"Deep breaths," Chloe says.

The water is so high that their cheeks are practically smushed against the stone. Tate savors the last few gulps of oxygen that make it into her lungs. Then she lets the water envelop her completely, allowing herself a moment to let the bubbles settle before opening her eyes.

Her blurry vision reveals the murky depths of the room, illuminated only by their flashlights, the beams barely granting her enough sight to tell down from up. While Chloe beats her arm against the hidden door they'd entered through, Tate removes a knife from her pocket and tries to locate any screws near the grate that she could possibly loosen. She can't find any. Their only way out is a man half a mile aboveground who's currently getting his ass kicked by her sister.

Tate's lungs burn as the seconds tick by. They seem even longer down here, or maybe shorter, because it seems like she had just taken that final breath and her lungs already burn. She smashes her lips together to tamp down the nearly overwhelming desire to inhale.

I will not die. I will not let Jo win.

She repeats those words like a mantra, watching Nathan push against the porthole above as if she can will it to open with the force of her resolve alone. But it stays firmly shut and Chloe's frantic movements grow more sluggish.

I will not die. I will not let Jo win.

The words still echo in her mind, though it seems like her body doesn't want to listen. Spite cannot outweigh biology. It cannot compensate for her body's need for oxygen. So even as she remains hell-bent on staying conscious, her mouth opens against her will.

Tate coughs. And then she inhales a lungful of water.

Back when she had a job as a lifeguard in her teenage years, she was warned that drowning is not what it looks like in the movies. There is usually no screaming for help or thrashing. It's a quiet event. But this knowledge doesn't make it any less terrifying when it happens to her, and her body thrashes from the water in her lungs.

I will not... I will not... I will not...

Tate is helpless against time. It's the one thing she cannot beat no matter how hard she tries.

The last thought she has before losing consciousness is a curse on her sister.

_________

a/n:

tate is so much stronger than me because the second i saw nate on that dance floor i would've been unable to continue the mission. the scottish man could have taken me out and i would be none the wiser.

i've had so much fun writing this book! thank you to those who have stuck with it. i know the wait was quite long between chapters 6-7 and this is my way of making it up to you—rapidly updating (and sprinkling in some tathan moments)

also "i'm literally in a papa john's right now" made me laugh harder than it should have when i watched this in theaters. this time, i just had femininomenon by chappell roan playing in my head as i watched sully and jo fight. 🎶GET IT HOT LIKE PAPA JOHN🎶

— kristyn

( word count: 4.4k )