Adrian was leading them away, just as he said he would.

But the relief was short-lived.

A heavy, dragging sound came from directly outside our door.

Someone was walking in the corridor behind the pipes.

The footsteps were slow, deliberate.

They didn’t sound like Adrian’s quick, athletic stride.

These steps were accompanied by the rustle of heavy tactical fabric.

I held my breath, my entire body freezing.

The footsteps stopped right outside the steel door.

A faint scratching sound echoed through the metal.

Someone was running their fingers along the seam of the hidden door.

Then, a voice spoke, low and clear, carrying through the ventilation duct above my head.

“I know you’re in there, Maya,” the voice said.

It was Camille.

Her tone was calm, almost pleasant, as if she were greeting me at a garden party.

“Adrian is already ours,” she continued. “You can make this easy, or we can use the torch.”

I stared into the blackness, my fingers digging into the wool blanket.

“I know about the children,” Camille said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you really think Adrian’s mother could keep a secret from my family’s payroll?”