Slowly, his fingers uncoiled from my neck.

He took a shaky step back, his hands rising into the air in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m letting her go,” Paul stammered.

“See?”

“I’m letting her go.”

I stumbled forward, away from him, my knees nearly giving out.

I caught myself against the cold brick wall, coughing as the cool, damp air rushed back into my lungs.

Vincent watched me, his face unreadable.

“Come here, Lena,” he said.

I took a trembling step toward him, the revolver still heavy in my right hand.

Behind us, Paul stood frozen against the wall, his eyes darting frantically between the guards and the exit.

The wet darkness of the tunnel seemed to close in around us, leaving only the small circle of light from my dropped flashlight on the floor.

Vincent reached out, his gloved hand gently catching my elbow to steady me.

He looked down at the gun in my hand, then up at my face.

In the dim light, I could see a faint, grim smile touch his lips.

He reached into his coat pocket once more.