I squeezed through the hatch, sliding down the metal incline of the laundry chute.

I landed hard on a pile of canvas carts filled with linens in the basement.

A second later, Dante dropped down beside me, landing gracefully on his feet.

He immediately checked his weapon and scanned the dimly lit basement.

The basement was vast, filled with massive pipes and the hum of backup generators.

“The garage is through that double door,” Dante said, pointing to the far wall.

“We can’t go that way,” I said, catching my breath. “The leak said they had a vehicle blocking the exit ramp.”

“Then we take the old boiler passage,” Dante said. “It leads to the alley behind the dry cleaners.”

He pulled me toward a rusty iron door half-hidden behind a stack of broken wooden pallets.

He kicked the pallets aside and threw his weight against the iron door.

It groaned but gave way.

We stepped into a damp, brick-lined tunnel that smelled of old water and earth.

Behind us, we heard the sound of heavy boots entering the laundry room.