Paul froze, his fist still hovering in the air.

His grip on my wrist loosened just a fraction.

We both listened, our breathing ragged and loud in the narrow space.

A shadow fell over the entrance of our small branching passage.

The light from the dropped flashlight on the floor cast a long, trembling silhouette against the wet bricks.

The silhouette was tall, wearing a long wool coat that brushed against the floor of the tunnel.

I knew that outline.

I knew the slow, rhythmic sound of those leather-soled shoes.

“Paul,” a calm, deep voice echoed from the shadows.

The tone was cold, completely devoid of anger, but carrying a weight that made the air in the tunnel feel instantly heavier.

It was Vincent.

He had found us.

Paul’s head snapped toward the entrance of the passage, his eyes widening in sudden, raw panic.

He didn’t let go of my wrist, but his hand began to tremble.

He pulled me closer to him, using my body as a shield between himself and the dark figure in the doorway.

“Stay back!” Paul yelled, his voice cracking with fear.