They both looked at me, surprised by my tone.

“It is parked in the service alley, and it has no markings,” I said.

Roman looked at Declan, then back to me.

“She is right,” Roman admitted.

Declan grunted, but he didn’t argue.

We left Silas groaning on the wet concrete floor.

We walked quickly through the dark corridors of the cellar, the air smelling of old mold and sour grapes.

The rain outside was coming down in sheets when we reached the service exit.

Neon lights from the high-rises reflected in the oily puddles of the alleyway.

Declan opened the heavy metal door, his hand on his holster.

He scanned the alley, his eyes sharp and alert.

“Clear,” he muttered.

We ran to the black SUV parked under the rusted fire escape.

Roman got into the front passenger seat, while Declan took the wheel.

I climbed into the back, my wet shoes slipping on the rubber mat.

The engine roared to life, a low, powerful rumble.

Declan threw the vehicle into reverse, backing out of the narrow alley with practiced ease.