He laid the knife on top of the crate next to us, its blade gleaming in the dark.

“A promise is a promise, Lena,” Vincent said.

“I promised to protect you from him.”

“But true safety is something you must claim for yourself.”

He nodded toward the knife, then toward Paul.

The air in the tunnel grew entirely still, the dripping water the only sound remaining in the dark.

“Choose,” Vincent whispered.

Suddenly, a loud, high-pitched ring echoed through the narrow passage.

It was the sharp, modern chime of a cell phone.

The sound was jarring, cutting through the heavy tension of the underground tunnel like a knife.

It wasn’t my phone, and it wasn’t Paul’s.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed as he slowly reached into his inner breast pocket.

He pulled out a sleek, black phone.

The screen lit up, casting a pale blue glow over his sharp features.

I squinted, trying to read the name flashing on the screen.

The caller ID read a single word: *HALE*.

Vincent tapped the screen and held the phone to his ear, his face instantly hardening into stone.