We stood perfectly still in the dark.

A sharp, metallic scraping sound echoed from the wall we had just closed.

They had found the lever.

“Hurry,” Vincent whispered, his pace quickening down the steps.

My foot slipped on a patch of wet moss, and I nearly fell, but Vincent caught me by the collar.

“I have you,” he said.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, our shoes splashing into two inches of cold, greasy water.

The air here was moving, a draft of wind carrying the stench of the city sewers.

“The tunnel goes north for three blocks,” Vincent said, his voice low. “It exits near the old rail yard.”

Behind us, at the top of the stairs, a thin beam of flashlight cut through the darkness.

The wooden panel had been forced open.

“They’re down here!” a voice shouted from the top of the stairs. “In the basement!”

A bright beam of light swept down the stone steps, reflecting off the wet walls.

Vincent pulled me behind a thick concrete support pillar.

He raised his gun, resting his forearm against the side of the pillar.