Voices Beneath the City

The night was thick with fog as Calla Gallagher waited at the entrance to the Paris catacombs, the note in her pocket creased from her fidgeting fingers. The threat it held felt as cold as the stones around her: Withdraw while you still can. Yet she knew this was her only chance.

To the rest of the city, her pen name was Charles Gauthier—a seasoned, ruthless writer whose satire could flay a reputation with a single sentence. In reality, Calla Gallagher was a woman struggling for her voice to be heard. Monsieur Laurent, her editor and judge in this so-called “competition,” had kept her in shadow, feeding off her success while dismissing her as a mere tool. Laurent had played a double game: he published her work but privately loathed it, resenting that a woman might dare rival his own influence.

A creak of wood signaled the arrival of Elijah Scott, the friend who knew her better than anyone. He guided his carriage forward, stepping down with an easy grace as his lantern’s dim light spread across the fog-drenched street. “Ready to descend into darkness?” he asked with a wink.