“What is happening?” Richard Hart’s voice gasped from the speaker.

The connection suddenly cut to black, replaced by a single blinking cursor.

Adrian stopped at the foot of the exit ladder, looking up as a bright light shone down from the surface.

The heavy metal hatch opened with a loud groan, and a figure stood silhouetted against the gray Chicago sky.

The silhouette resolved into a woman wearing a heavy dark coat and a knit cap.

It was Isabella.

She reached down, her gloved hand extended toward us in the damp air.

“Hurry,” Isabella said, her voice low and steady.

Adrian climbed the metal rungs first, holding Noah tightly against his chest.

I followed right behind him, carrying Oliver, while one of Isabella’s men brought Lena.

The cold Chicago wind hit my face as I stepped out into an alley behind an abandoned brick warehouse.

The smell of wet asphalt and old garbage filled the air.

A plain grey delivery van sat idling in the shadows, its side door already slid open.

“Get in,” Isabella said, gesturing toward the dark interior of the vehicle.