I looked down at the blood on my hands.

The grate began to move from below.

A pale hand pushed it open, but this time, it was not my father’s.

A face appeared in the gap, illuminated by the incoming flashlights.

It was Matteo.

His face was covered in soot and blood, his eyes wild.

“Get down here,” he hissed, reaching for my arm. “Now.”

I looked at the open grate, then back at the flashlights approaching from the entrance.

I grabbed his hand and stepped into the dark.

The grate slammed shut above us, cutting off the light.

The sound of heavy boots echoed directly over our heads.

“Where did they go?” a voice shouted above.

Matteo pulled me through the narrow, damp tunnel, the stone walls pressing against my shoulders.

The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and decay.

We crawled in silence, the only sound the scraping of my wet dress against the stone.

After a few yards, the tunnel opened into a small, vaulted room.

A single flashlight lay on the dirt floor, its beam pointing at a wooden door.