My knees scraped against the rough concrete.

I reached the rusted access door at the end of the crawlspace.

The padlock was thick and coated in flaky orange rust.

I wedged the flat edge of my crowbar into the shackle.

I leaned my entire weight against the iron bar.

The metal groaned, a low, scraping sound that made my teeth ache.

I paused, listening for any sign that the guards had heard.

Only the distant hum of the estate’s backup generator filled the silence.

I gave one final, violent shove.

The rusted lock snapped with a dull crack.

I caught the heavy iron padlock in my palm before it could hit the floor.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open.

A blast of cold, stagnant air hit my face.

It smelled of wet earth and dry rot.

I pulled a small penlight from my pocket and switched it on.

The thin beam of light cut through the thick dust.

The tunnel was narrow, its walls made of rough red brick.

Water dripped slowly from the low ceiling, forming dark puddles on the dirt floor.