“This way,” Dr. Hale said, gesturing toward a narrow door marked ‘Staff Only’.

Vincent grabbed my upper arm, his grip firm but not painful, and pulled me along.

The corridor smelled of bleach and cold iron.

Behind us, a loud, metallic thud shook the shutter as someone threw themselves against it.

“They know we are here,” I whispered, my legs shaking.

“They do not know who is waiting for them,” Vincent said.

He did not slow down.

He pushed open a heavy fire door at the end of the hall.

We entered a damp underground garage that smelled of oil and wet concrete.

A black sedan sat idling, its exhaust forming a gray cloud in the cold air.

A man in a dark suit stood by the rear door, holding it open.

“Get in,” Vincent commanded.

I scrambled into the leather seat, my wet coat heavy against my skin.

Vincent slid in next to me, closing the door with a heavy thud that blocked out the sound of the rain.

The driver immediately put the car in reverse.

The tires screeched on the wet concrete.