I squeezed my shoulders through the opening, the sharp metal edges tearing at my jacket.

I dragged my body through the narrow duct, coughing on the thick dust that filled the passage.

Behind me, the sound of shouting and gunfire grew muffled.

I crawled on my hands and knees until I felt the cool night air on my face.

I pushed through a plastic grate and tumbled out onto the wet grass behind the warehouse.

It was raining now, a cold Roman drizzle that washed the sweat and dirt from my forehead.

I did not stop to breathe.

I ran into the trees, my boots sinking into the soft mud.

Behind me, the warehouse doors flew open, and beams of flashlight searchlights began cutting through the dark woods.

“Find her!” a voice shouted in Italian.

I ran harder, my lungs burning, the wet branches slapping against my face.

I kept my hand pressed against my pocket, feeling the hard metal shape of the Swiss key.

I ran for what felt like miles, guided only by the distant, orange glow of the city lights on the horizon.