“Speak,” Vincent said.

The voice on the other end was muffled, but I could hear the urgent, panicked tone of Dr. Hale.

“Vincent, you need to get out of there,” Hale’s voice leaked through the receiver.

“They found the clinic.”

“They’re already inside the lower levels.”

“They’re coming down the shafts.”

Before Vincent could reply, a loud, metallic scraping sound echoed from the ceiling directly above our heads.

The sound of metal scraping against metal grew louder directly above our heads.

Paul lunged at me, his face twisted in a mask of desperation.

His wet fingers clawed at my jacket, trying to drag me backward into the shadows of the tunnel.

“You’re coming with me,” he hissed, his breath hot and sour against my cheek.

Before he could pull me a step further, Vincent moved.

His hand shot out like a striking snake, catching Paul by the throat.

Vincent slammed Paul against the damp brick wall of the tunnel.

The heavy silver pistol Paul had been holding clattered to the concrete floor.

Vincent kicked it away, and it splashed into the dark water running along the trench.