"Is it what I think it is?" Corvine asked, his voice carrying a fragile kind of hope that he didn't dare hold onto too tightly, even as the sound of hurried footsteps began to echo through the tunnel, not just one set but several, overlapping and uneven, growing louder with every passing second until it became impossible to ignore what it meant.
The noise built quickly, filling the space with urgency, with movement, with life, and before anyone could even fully process it, it became painfully clear that a large group of people was rushing toward the exit.
Corvine felt it before he even realized what was happening, the sting of tears gathering in his eyes, his chest tightening as something inside him cracked open under the weight of relief.
"It worked," he whispered, his voice unsteady, almost disbelieving, like he needed to hear himself say it out loud to make it real. "They're coming out, the hostages are coming out."
Stanley didn't react the same way.
