The door swung open with a slow, grinding screech that set my teeth on edge.

A tall man in a dark canvas jacket stumbled into the room, clutching his left side.

It was Marcus, one of Isabella’s trusted couriers.

“They bypassed the outer gate,” Marcus gasped, his hand stained with dark, glossy blood.

Isabella did not hesitate.

“Through the cellar grate,” she commanded, pointing toward a heavy iron hatch in the corner of the dry concrete floor. “Now.”

Adrian lowered his weapon just enough to grab the metal ring of the hatch.

He pulled it upward with a dull groan of protesting iron.

A draft of cold, damp air rushed up from the dark opening, smelling of old rainwater and rusted pipes.

I scooped Oliver up, holding him tight against my collarbone while Lena and Noah clung to my coat.

“I’ve got them,” Adrian said, his voice low and steady.

He reached down and lifted Noah and Lena together, his broad shoulders shifting easily under his dark jacket.

We descended into the damp, cold concrete tunnel below.

The metal rungs of the ladder were icy beneath my fingers.