The shadow of the guard was already returning.

I reached out, my fingers closing around the cold metal of the passport.

“Let’s go,” I whispered.

We stepped out of the cell, the corridor dark and silent.

The final stretch was ahead.

And there was no turning back.

We walked toward the emergency exit, the red sign glowing in the dark.

The door pushed open, the cold night air hitting my face once more.

Ahead of us, a black unmarked van was idling in the shadow of the hangar.

The sliding door opened, revealing a dark interior.

I stepped toward it, my boots quiet on the tarmac.

But as I reached the door, a sudden beam of light cut through the dark, pinning us against the side of the vehicle.

“Don’t move,” a voice commanded from the shadows.

The sound of multiple weapons cocking echoed across the runway.

The trap had sprung.

I braced myself, my hand slipping inside my jacket where the passport lay.

The figure in the spotlight stepped forward, his boots loud on the concrete.

The light caught his face, and my breath caught in my throat.