I held my breath, tucking myself deeper into the shadow of a recessed alcove.

The light splashed across the floor just inches from my feet.

Then, the light stopped, shining directly onto the wall opposite me.

A shadow stretched long and thin across the bricks.

“Lena,” a voice called out.

The voice was soft, dripping with familiar, cruel amusement.

My blood ran cold.

It wasn’t one of Corrado’s mercenaries.

The beam of the flashlight turned slowly, searching the darkness until it hit my face, blinding me.

Behind the bright light, a figure stepped forward.

“Did you really think you could run from me, Lena?” Paul said.

His voice echoed off the wet brick.

I squinted against the white glare of the flashlight.

My fingers tightened around the grip of the gun in my pocket.

The metal was freezing.

“Turn that off,” I said, my voice shaking more than I wanted it to.

He laughed, a dry, rasping sound that I had heard in my nightmares for years.

He didn’t lower the light.

Instead, he took a slow step closer, his boots splashing in the shallow water.